Chapter 10 - The Fall of Eleanor Vance
Eight armed officers spilled out of the patrol cars, led by Captain Frank Torres, a grizzled veteran who had known the Vance family for twenty years.
Torres rushed through the terrace archway, his hand on his sidearm, surveying the chaos—the shattered glass, the pool water, the bloody matriarch in the pool, and Julian Vance standing tall, soaking wet, his eyes blazing.
"Mr. Vance!" Torres barked. "We got a 911 call about an attempted drowning of a minor!"
Julian pointed down into the pool. "The perpetrator is right there, Captain. Eleanor Vance. Attempted murder of a three-year-old child. Along with felony aggravated child abuse and torture."
Torres looked down into the water. Two officers immediately stepped forward with tactical batons and handcuffs.
"Get her out of the water," Torres ordered.
"Don't touch me! Keep your filthy hands off me!" Eleanor shrieked, kicking and flailing as two burly officers reached down, grabbed her by her bruised arms, and hauled her unceremoniously out of the pool.
She landed heavily on the wet stone patio, sprawling on her stomach like a landed carp. Her fifty-thousand-dollar Chanel dress was torn, stained with raspberry juice and pool grime, clinging pathetically to her trembling frame.
Before she could push herself up, an officer placed a heavy boot between her shoulder blades, forcing her flat against the cold stone, and pulled her arms behind her back.
*CLICK. CLACK.*
The sound of steel handcuffs locking around Eleanor Vance’s wrists rang out like a final church bell.
"Eleanor Vance, you are under arrest for attempted murder and felony child endangerment," Torres read coldly. "You have the right to remain silent..."
"Julian! Look at me!" Eleanor sobbed into the wet stone, her face pressed against the travertine she had paid millions to import. "I gave you life! You owe me everything! Lucas! Tell them! Julian!"
Julian didn’t look back.
He didn’t spare her a single glance as the officers hauled her to her feet and dragged the dripping, screaming matriarch past her horrified peers toward the back of the cruiser.
Julian turned his back on the crowd, on the cameras, on the ruined empire of his family’s vanity, and walked into the warmth of the mansion.
Upstairs, in the quiet safety of the master suite, Lucas was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Lily as she drank warm milk from a sippy cup, wrapped in three plush heated blankets.
When Lily saw Julian walk into the room, her big brown eyes lit up, and she held out her tiny arms.
Julian sat on the bed, pulled his daughter into his lap, and wrapped his arms around her like an unbreakable fortress.
"Is the bad lady gone, Daddy?" Lily whispered, her soft hand resting against Julian's cheek.
May you like
Julian kissed her forehead, closing his eyes as a single tear slipped into his dark stubble.
"She's gone, Lily," Julian whispered, his voice steady, ironclad, and full of peace. "She's gone forever. And you're home."
