Chapter 8 - The Price of Dishonor
When we arrived at the vineyard, the main pavilion was dark, but a flickering orange glow was visible through the large glass windows of the grand ballroom.
Vivian had already started the fire.
We jumped out of the car. Matthew tried to open the main glass doors, but they were locked from the inside. I grabbed a heavy iron patio chair and smashed it through the glass pane, shattering it into a thousand pieces. We stepped through the broken frame into the smoke-filled room.
The smell of gasoline was overpowering. Puddles of fuel were spread across the hardwood dance floor, and small fires were already climbing up the heavy velvet draperies.
In the center of the room stood Vivian. She looked like a ghost—her clothes soaked in rain and gasoline, her hair wild, holding a burning torch made from a rolled-up wedding brochure.
"Mom! Stop!" Matthew shouted, coughing as the smoke began to fill his lungs. "Drop the torch! Please!"
Vivian looked at him, her eyes vacant and crazed. "Matthew... you came. You came to save me."
"I came to stop you, Mom," Matthew said, taking a slow, cautious step forward. "This has to end. Dad is going to prison. The money is gone. But you don't have to die here."
"I don't want to live in a world where I am nothing!" she shrieked, raising the torch higher. "Look at what she did to us! She exposed us! She made us look like criminals!"
"You are criminals, Vivian," I said, stepping into her line of sight. I kept my hands visible, my posture relaxed, hiding the tactical readiness pulsing through my veins. "You stole from men and women who bled for this country. You burned my dress because you were afraid of the truth—that your money couldn't buy real honor. Look at yourself. Is this what a Hawthorne does?"
"Shut up! Shut up!" she screamed, turning her fury entirely on me. She lunged forward, throwing the burning torch directly at my face.
My military training kicked in instantly. I ducked to the left, the torch sailing past my ear and landing on a gasoline-soaked rug behind me, which erupted into a wall of flame.
Before Vivian could grab another match, I lunged forward, tackling her to the ground. We hit the hard floor, the air leaving her lungs in a loud gasp. I quickly pinned her arms behind her back, utilizing a standard restraint hold, ensuring she couldn't move or strike another match.
"Let me go! Let me go!" she screamed, thrashing beneath me.
Matthew rushed over with a fire extinguisher he had ripped from the wall, blasting the flames around us, creating a safe pathway toward the exit.
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In the distance, the sirens wailed, red and blue lights reflecting against the smoke-filled glass. Within moments, fire trucks and police cruisers swarmed the venue. Officers rushed in, pulling Vivian from my grip and dragging her out into the rain.
Matthew sank to his knees on the charred floor, covered in soot, burying his face in his hands. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him tightly as the smoke cleared around us. The Hawthorne empire had officially burned to the ground, destroyed by its own creator.
