Chapter 8 - The Cabin in Blue Ridge
"Monica, listen to me!" Trevor shouted into the speaker. "Stay inside the cabin! Do not confront him!"
"He lied to me!" Monica screamed through the phone, her voice completely unhinged. "I gave him everything! I stole from my own mother for him!"
CLICK.
The line went dead.
"Dammit!" Trevor roared, grabbing his jacket off the chair. "She’s going to go down to that boathouse!"
"Marcus!" I barked, turning to the attorney. "Call the Blue Ridge Sheriff’s Department right now! Tell them there’s an active extortion suspect on the property and a domestic crisis in progress!"
Within two minutes, Marcus had dispatched three county deputy units to the Blue Ridge estate, while Trevor and I jumped into our SUV and tore onto the highway heading north.
The drive to Blue Ridge took forty-five excruciating minutes.
The sun was setting over the mountains, casting long, blood-red shadows across the winding gravel roads as we neared Julian’s secluded lakefront property.
As we rounded the final curve leading to the cabin driveway, the flashing red and blue lights of three sheriff's cruisers illuminated the dense pine trees.
Two deputies had their sidearms drawn, pointing them toward the wooden dock extending over the dark, still lake.
Trevor slammed the SUV into park, and we scrambled out onto the gravel driveway.
"Stay back, sir!" a deputy shouted at Trevor. "We have a dispute in progress!"
Down at the boathouse dock, forty feet away, Julian Vance was pinned against a wooden pillar. His expensive linen shirt was torn at the collar, his dark hair disheveled.
Standing five feet away from him, holding an empty wine bottle smashed at the neck like a jagged glass dagger, was Monica.
She was screaming incoherently, tears washing black mascara down her face, her hands shaking violently as she brandished the broken glass at Julian's chest.
"You used me!" Monica shrieked, her voice echoing over the quiet lake. "You made me hate my family! You made me ruin my niece's birthday! You took my mother's house!"
"Monica, put the glass down!" Julian pleaded, his arrogant composure completely shattered, his hands raised in pure terror. "We can talk about this! I was going to send for you from Nassau! I swear!"
"Liar!" she roared, taking a step closer, the glass glinting red in the fading sunset.
"Monica!" I called out, breaking away from the deputy's warning hand and running down the wooden steps toward the dock.
"Bethany, stop!" Trevor yelled, sprinting behind me.
I stopped at the edge of the wooden dock, ten feet from Monica. "Monica, look at me!"
Monica turned her head slightly, her bloodshot, wild eyes locking onto mine. "Bethany? What are you doing here? Come to watch me finish ruining my life?"
"No," I said, keeping my voice dead steady, using the calm, authoritative tone I used when a child was hyperventilating in my clinic. "I came to stop you from spending the rest of your life in a state penitentiary for murder."
"He stole everything, Bethany!" Monica wept, her shoulders shaking violently. "He took my career, my family, my mother's love... he took everything!"
"He didn't take your life, Monica," I said softly, taking one slow, deliberate step onto the floating dock. "He’s a thief and a coward. He’s going to prison for extortion and bank fraud. Don't trade your freedom to hurt a man who isn't worth the dirt on your shoes."
Julian looked at me, his eyes wide with desperate pleading. "Tell her, Bethany! Tell her to put it down!"
"Shut up, Julian," I snapped, not taking my eyes off Monica.
I held out my hand toward Monica, palm up. "Hand me the bottle, Monica. Let the police do their job."
Monica looked at the broken bottle in her hand, then at Julian, then at me.
The rage in her eyes slowly drained away, replaced by a deep, terrifying, hollow exhaustion.
"I ruined everything, Bethany," Monica whispered, her voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the lake water against the wooden posts. "I ruined Hazel's cake."
"Hazel is fine, Monica," I said gently. "She just wants her aunt to get better."
Slowly, agonizingly, Monica let her fingers loosen.
The broken glass bottle slipped from her hand, falling into the dark water below with a quiet plop.
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She sank to her knees on the damp wooden dock, covering her face with her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
Two deputies rushed past us, slamming Julian Vance against the wooden pillar, snapping heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists, while I knelt beside my sister-in-law, wrapping a blanket around her shaking shoulders as the ambulance sirens wailed in the distance.
