Chapter 14 - The Ambush in the Parlor
The grand parlor was the most opulent room in the estate, decorated with antique oil paintings of Blackwood ancestors, a roaring stone fireplace, and heavy velvet curtains that blocked out the gray afternoon storm.
Doctor Thorne sat comfortably on the leather sofa, his medical clipboard resting on his knee, while Sheriff Miller stood casually by the fireplace, one hand resting on his service weapon.
Mrs. Evelyn stood in the center of the room like a grand matriarch, her arms crossed over her chest.
The double doors opened. Emily walked in, holding Mason’s small hand.
The four-year-old boy was dressed neatly in a clean navy polo. He walked calmly, without the wild, thrashing aggression Thorne had documented in his fraudulent reports. His hazel eyes were clear, steady, and completely unclouded by the neuro-toxin Evelyn thought she had fed him.
Thorne blinked, his pen hovering over the clipboard. He glanced up at Evelyn with a furrowed brow.
Evelyn’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Mason... come sit by Doctor Thorne. Let him check your pulse.”
Mason didn't move. He stood firmly beside Emily, gripping her fingers.
“Where is Mr. Blackwood?” Thorne asked, clearing his throat awkwardly. “We need the father present to sign the temporary institutionalization order.”
“Alexander is unwell,” Evelyn said smoothly, stepping toward Mason. “His grief has incapacitated him today. As Clara’s nearest blood relative and the estate's primary caretaker, I hold secondary power of attorney. Hand the child over, Emily.”
Emily didn't budge. “Doctor Thorne, aren't you going to examine the bruises on his arms first?”
Thorne’s face hardened. “Young lady, your opinion was not requested. Sheriff Miller, remove this maid from the premises.”
Sheriff Miller stepped forward, unclipping his handcuffs with a menacing grin. “Come on, sweetheart. You’re coming downtown for questioning regarding missing property.”
“Touch her, Miller, and you leave this house in a body bag.”
The voice rang out from the arched doorway behind them, vibrating with such lethal fury that the air in the parlor instantly crystallized.
Sheriff Miller froze. Thorne jumped to his feet.
Alexander Blackwood stepped into the parlor. He wasn't in a rumpled sweater. He was dressed in a sharp, pitch-black three-piece suit, his posture straight as a blade. In his right hand, he held a sleek black tablet. Behind him, stepping silently out of the corridor, were four heavily armed agents wearing black tactical vests emblazoned with *FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION.*
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👉 Evelyn gasped, stumbling backward against the sofa—her face turning the color of curdled milk.
***
