Chapter 1 - THE EDGE OF THE WATER
"Hold on, Mrs. Vance!"
The rubber sneakers squealed against polished Italian travertine like tires on black ice.
Elena didn't think. You don't get the luxury of thinking when three hundred pounds of steel wheelchair and frail eighty-two-year-old matriarch are hurtling toward a twelve-foot drop into chlorine and death. She launched her body forward, knees slamming raw and hard against the edge of the limestone coping.
Clack.
Her left hand hooked the cold chrome push-bar. Her shoulder socket popped with an agonizing, electric screech as the front casters of the chair dipped into dead air, spinning over turquoise pool water.
Evelyn Vance let out a bird-like gasp, her paper-thin hands clutching the wool throw blanket tucked around her withered knees. Below them, the pool surface was dead calm, reflecting the California morning sun like a clean sheet of glass waiting to shatter.
"I’ve got you," Elena choked out through clenched teeth, her triceps burning, veins roping along her neck. "I’ve got you, Evelyn. Don't lean. Look at me. Look right at me."
With one desperate, brutal yank backward, Elena dragged the deadweight back onto flat stone. The wheels slammed down with a heavy, jarring rattle.
Elena collapsed onto her palms, sucking down jagged lungfuls of air, sweat dripping down her temples into her eyes. Her hands shook so bad she could barely curl her fingers.
Before she could even ask if the old woman was breathing, the mahogany French doors flew open with a deafening bang.
"What is going on out here?!"
A woman stormed across the threshold in a royal-blue sheath dress and nude heels, her gold bracelets clinking like small brass knuckles. Victoria Vance. Perfectly sculpted blonde blowout, face tight with expensive fillers, eyes blazing with manufactured terror. Right behind her stalked Julian Vance, his face flushed, jaw squared like an executioner's.
Victoria stopped dead in her tracks, pressed both hands to her cheeks, and let out an ear-piercing shriek that echoed off the high glass ceilings.
"She pushed Mom! Julian, look! She tried to drown your mother!"
Victoria’s manicured finger stabbed through the air, pointed dead at Elena’s chest.
Elena froze, blood turning to pure ice in her veins. "What? No—I caught her! She was rolling—"
"Shut your mouth!" Julian roared, crossing the patio in three thunderous strides. His chest heaved against his charcoal button-down as he stepped between Elena and the wheelchair, his face inches from hers. "You touch my mother again, and I swear to God you’ll leave this house in the back of a squad car."
From the shadows of the living room hallway, a soft click echoed.
May you like
Julian's eighteen-year-old son, Leo, stepped through the open doorway holding a small black remote control in his hand. His face was gray.
"Dad," Leo said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. "Look at the screen."
