Chapter 933
The curtain parted.
A collective gasp pulled the air from the room.
It wasn’t Silas. It wasn’t Lucian.
It was Ethan Vance.
But not the Ethan Skye knew — not the erratic, giggling madman. This Ethan was shorn. His wild hair had been buzzed into a military cut. He wore a suit that cost more than the building, and he stood perfectly still at center stage, hands clasped behind his back.
“He’s supposed to be in police custody!” Alistair hissed, his grip tightening on Skye’s arm. “We handed him over to the detectives ourselves after he shot Grandpa!”
“Corruption,” Liam said, materializing beside them, his face grim. “The evidence room had a gas leak fire last night. The murder weapon is gone. The new DA just bought a yacht. He’s out on bail pending a mental health review.”
Ethan stepped up to the microphone. His eyes swept the crowd — flat, dead, shark eyes.
“My name is Ethan Graves,” he said. His voice carried no inflection whatsoever.
𝖳r𝖾𝗻𝗱𝘪𝘯𝗴 𝗻ovеl𝗌 о𝗻 𝘨а𝗹𝗇o𝘃e𝗹𝘀.сo𝗺
“Graves?” Victoria whispered. “But he’s a Vance.”
“I have been… enlightened,” Ethan continued. “The Mastermind has corrected the records. Through a newly discovered codicil in the original founding charter, and a convenient posthumous adoption by the late patriarch, I have reclaimed my true birthright. The Vance name was a shackle. The Graves name is a sword.”
“They forged the documents,” Alistair whispered, appalled. “They’re rewriting history to legitimize a hostile takeover.”
Ethan raised one finger and pointed into the crowd. Directly at Julian.
“And the past must be buried.”
Julian gripped the arms of his wheelchair, his knuckles white. He tried to stand — and failed. His legs gave out beneath him. He slumped back, gasping.
“He’s been completely reprogrammed,” Skye realized, horror settling over her.
“He’s a puppet,” Liam said. “Look at his ear. There’s an earpiece. Someone is feeding him lines.”
“We have to get him off that stage,” Alistair said, stepping forward.
The speakers shrieked with feedback.
Click.
The ballroom went pitch black.
A beat of silence.
Then a gunshot.
Bang.
Pandemonium. Screams erupted. Glass shattered. Tables crashed. The darkness filled with the sound of blind, stampeding terror.
“Skye!” Alistair shouted, reaching for her.
The crowd surged like a tidal wave, forcing them apart.
Skye was slammed against a pillar. She couldn’t see anything. She fumbled for her phone and switched on the flashlight. The beam sliced through the dust and chaos.
The stage was empty. Ethan was gone.
But on the floor where Julian had been sitting, the wheelchair lay overturned. Julian was stretched out on the carpet, unconscious, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
“Julian!” Skye screamed.
She broke into a run, but a hand seized her wrist — a strong, painful grip.
“Let go!” She swung her heavy clutch at the attacker’s head.
“It’s me!” Liam’s voice.
He pulled her against him, shielding her with his body as the crowd stampeded past. “We have to move. They’re funneling the targets toward the exits.”
“Julian is hurt!”