Hello Dear Readers! It’s been a while!
Here’s something I have to absolutely share with you: Beneath The Hat is posting audiobook versions of my 50 Shades of Grey recaps. This is a thing, and it is happening. Kate Davidson reads them, and she is so amazing and funny. Please, check them out, because she’s done a fantastic job.
Okay. Recrap time.
A lot of people have noted that there are some aspects of 50 Shades that are a little… unrealistic. Like a twenty-two year old who doesn’t have an email address and who gets a job directly out of college.
This chapter blows them all away for sheer stupidity and unbelievability.
At the end of chapter twenty-one, Ana has just answered her phone, expecting Mia on the other end, but it’s Jack Hyde. You know, the Jack Hyde who should be in jail without bond because he’s committed several violent and dangerous acts against the protagonists?
Jack asks Ana if she remembers him. I should hope so, since he was her boss at SIP just four months ago. But considering Ana’s concept of time, it’s good that Jack checked. He tells Ana that he’s been having a “chat” with Mia, and Ana demands to know what he’s done to her.
“Listen here, you prick-teasing, gold-digging whore. You fucked up my life. Grey fucked up my life. You owe me. I have the little bitch with me now. And you, that cocksucker you married, and his whole fucking family are going to pay.”
He said, probably twiddling his mustache. Seriously, who crams that many multi-syllabic insults into one piece of dialogue? It’s a good thing police don’t exist in 50 Shades world, because if they did, they could trace the call in the amount of time it’s taken Jack to sling cliche insults.
Jack tells Ana that he wants five million dollars, today.
Wait, just five million dollars?
“I want his money. I really want his fucking money. If things had been different, it could have been me. So you’re going to get it for me. I want five million dollars, today.”
“Jack, I don’t have access to that kind of money.”
Hey, this is interesting. How often has Christian told Ana that everything he has belongs to her? We’re about to see how well that statement stands up.
Jack gives Ana two hours before he kills Mia. He tells her not to the call the police– as if that were going to be an actual issue, as this dipshit didn’t call the cops even when a woman broke into her apartment and pointed a gun at her– or Christian or her security team, because if she does, Jack will somehow magically know.
“You understand!” he shouts.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Or I will kill her.”
So… did you not understand, then, Ana? Also, here’s a free punctuation tip. “You understand” should have been followed by a ? if it were a question, not an !, because “he shouts” serves the same purpose as the !. You could have had it all, E.L. You could have had it all!
After she hangs up, this happens:
“Hannah, I have to go out. I’m not sure how long I’ll be. Cancel my appointments this afternoon. Let Elizabeth know I have to deal with an emergency.”
Remember when Ana blamed Hannah for getting her pregnant by moving appointments after Ana asked her specificially to move appointments? That. Also, for someone who wanted to get by on her own professional merits, Ana doesn’t really have any professional merits. She’s constantly leaving work early, dragging her personal business into the office, bringing an entourage of security people… this is all shit that would not fly at a company not owned by her husband, but she never acknowledges that. Unless it’s to pull a “poor me, I wanted to get by on my own merits, but my husband bought me this job,” while simultaneously pulling this type of shit that would get her fired anywhere else and generally behaving as though she has a much higher standing in the company than she does.
Ana asks Sawyer to drive her home, and he does. In the car, Ana thinks:
I gaze out the window in stark terror as I go over my plan. Get home. Change. Find checkbook. Escape from Ryan and Swayer somehow. Go to bank. Hell, how much room does five million dollars take up? What will it weigh? Will I need a suitcase? Should I telephone the bank in advance?
Yes. You should telephone the bank as much as two weeks in advance. More on that later. Right now, I want to touch on something very troubling here: Ana feels like she needs to “escape” from her security detail. The people who are supposed to be keeping her safe, and who are supposedly employed by her husband herself. I’ve mentioned before that it’s really fucking creepy that she can’t tell them to just take a hike and have them listen, but now she’s actively plotting an escape?
Mia. Mia. What if he doesn’t have Mia? How can I check? If I call Grace it will raise her suspicions, and possibly endanger Mia.
“Hey Grace! Is Mia home?” How fucking hard is that? Can you imagine the trouble it would be to live in this universe. Every time you fucking called someone: “Hey, Bob, is Jerry in?” “No… no, he’s not. OH GOD SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED TO JERRY! OH GOD, JERRY’S DEAD! I MEAN HE MIGHT STILL BE AT WORK, BUT HE’S PROBABLY DEAD! WHY?! WHY?! WHYYYY?!”
Also, Ana, this is exactly why you call the police, regardless of what the kidnapper said. Let me break it down for you:
- Jack Hyde is not magic. You can call the cops, and he won’t actually know you did.
- If Jack Hyde wants money, he’s not going to kill Mia.
- The police can communicate with Jack and get proof of life.
- Also, the police aren’t fucking idiots, and they’re trained to handle this kind of thing.
- The bank is going to call the police, anyway, when you roll up on them with a duffle bag and demand five million in cash.
I glance out the back window of the SUV. Am I being followed? My heart races as I examine the cars following us. They look innocuous enough.
When evil people drive normal cars, the cars turn into Crowley’s Bentley from Good Omens, and are identifiable on sight.
Sawyer updates Taylor on their whereabouts, and Ana asks if Christian is still in Portland. He is. Ana thinks:
Good. I have to keep Christian safe. my hand strays down to my belly, and I rub it consciously. And you, Little Blip. Keep you both safe.
Yeah, be sure you keep Christian safe, since he’s not in any immediate danger and you are.
Seriously, nothing screams “Responsible prenatal care” like wandering around a major city alone with five million dollars in a duffle bag, looking for the drop.
Also, I want to examine this “I rub it consciously” part of the sentence. Why was “consciously” even needed. Every action Ana is taking is in first person present tense, so she couldn’t possibly tell us about what she’s doing if she’s not conscious of it. If this were first person past tense, she could say things like, “I toyed with my hair unconsciously” or whatever, because the action has passed and she can note that she had been doing it without realize it at the time. But in first person present, pretty much every action is conscious.
Once they arrive at the apartment, Ana goes to Christian’s study to ransack it looking for the checkbook. At this point, I thought to myself, “Ana, Jack is not going to take a fucking check,” but then things went further and made more sense, etc. Anyway, this happens:
Stumbling in panic around his desk, I wrench open the drawer to find the checkbooks. Leila’s gun slides forward into view. I feel an incongruous twinge of annoyance that Christian has not secured this weapon. He knows nothing about guns. Jeez, he could get hurt.
I like that she’s just annoyed that her husband is keeping a gun that isn’t registered to him in his desk in their home. Especially now that she’s pregnant and that kind of behavior is going to be super safe when they have children.
After a moment’s hesitation, I grab the pistol, check to ensure it’s loaded, and tuck it into the waistband of my black slacks.
I can’t remember… does this the magical, all carbon fiber pistol that does not exist have a safety? If it did, maybe you should have checked that, too, before you jammed it down your pants.
Try not to get whiplash here, because I’m going to be going fast:
I turn my attention to tracking down the right checkbook. There are five, and only one is in the names of C. Grey and Mrs. A. Grey.
He’s “C. Grey,” she’s “MRS. A. Grey,” because her role, first and foremost, is as Christian’s wife. Also, everything that is his is hers, as we’ve heard him tell her so many times… so why is her name only on one account?
I have about fifty-four thousand dollars in my own account.
Everything that is his is hers, but he has eleventy bajillion dollars and she has 54k. That’s enough to run away from an abusive husband with, but he’s also got all of her banking info, and can probably just take all that money out whenever he feels like it.
I have no idea how much money is in this one. But Christian must be good for five million dollars, surely. Perhaps there’s money in the safe?
Again, what’s his is hers, but she doesn’t know how much money they have? No, that’s fine. That sounds totally legit for a functional adult relationship.
Crap. I have no idea of the number. Didn’t he mention the combination was in his filing cabinet? I try the cabinet, but it’s locked.
There’s money in the safe, and the combination is in a locked filing cabinet. But everything that’s his is hers.
AM I MAKING MY POINT HERE? BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE I’M REALLY LAYING IT DOWN HARD.
Ana goes into the bedroom and thinks:
Perhaps I should have slept here last night. What is the point of arguing with someone who, by his own admission, is Fifty Shades?
Here, we have Ana telling herself she should just ignore Christian’s behavior. Yeah, no. This isn’t a book about abuse at all.
From the closet I fish out a large soft duffel bag. Will five million dollars fit into this? Christian’s gym bag is lying there on the floor. I open it, expecting to find it full of dirty laundry, but no– his gym kit is clean and fresh. Mrs. Jones does indeed get everywhere.
You know, Mia’s being held hostage by a mad man, but this was a really important detail, so I’m glad we now know what the inside of Christian’s gym bag is like. I couldn’t have possibly comprehended the story and all its complexities if I didn’t know that Christian “Perfect” Grey doesn’t have a sweaty gym bag.
Ana has to escape to go to the bank (I’m not sure why she couldn’t have just asked Sawyer to drive her to the bank… unless that’s a “proscribed” trip Sawyer would have to clear with Chedward ahead of time.
Let’s watch the totally normal way Ana leaves her own fucking apartment:
I make my way slowly and quietly to the foyer, aware of the CCTV camera, which is trained on the elevator. I think Sawyer’s still in Taylor’s office. Cautiously, I open the foyer door, making as little noise as possible. Shutting it quietly behind me, I stand on the very threshold, up against the door, out of the view of the CCTV lens. I fish my cell phone out of my purse and call Sawyer.
“Sawyer, I’m in the room upstairs, will you give me a hand with something?” I keep my voice low, knowing he’s just down the hallway on the other side of this door.
Despite some tedious word repetition– and really, all authors run into that problem from time to time– this is actually a pretty tense, well written passage. Where it fails is the part where the heroine of this romance novel is desperately trying to escape from the hero’s apartment.
I take a deep, steadying breath and briefly contemplate the irony of escaping from my own home like a felon.
If a felon tried to escape Chedward’s apartment, he’d just send them art school.
Ana gets in the elevator and the doors close dramatically just as Sawyer runs into the foyer. Huh. That rhymes.
I glance longingly at my R8 as I rush to the Saab, open the door, toss the duffel bag onto the passenger seat, and slide into the driver’s seat.
Why doesn’t she take the R8? If you’re trying to get somewhere quickly, why wouldn’t you take the faster vehicle? She gets out of the garage before Sawyer can catch her, and as she drives away, she thinks:
I know Sawyer will call Christian or Taylor, but I’ll deal with that when I have to– I don’t have time to dwell on it now. I squirm uncomfortably in my seat, knowing in my heart of hearts that Sawyer’s probably lost his job. Don’t dwell.
How is this not ringing major alarm bells for her? Ana. Honey. To leave the house of your volition, you had to sneak out. Your husband is going to fire the security guard who let you escape, because he failed in his job in not confining you to either work or the apartment. This is not Chedward keeping you safe and watching out for your best interests. This is keeping you imprisoned.
Fucking Christ, I cannot believe women fall for this as romantic. I swear to fuck someone spilled a whole bunch of meth into the water reserves in the United States or something. That’s the only way this happened, or a radioactive cloud of weaponized stupid or something. I can’t even blame our misogynistic culture anymore. Warren Jeffs would look at this mess and think it was creepy.
Now, just in case you were going, “Ana hasn’t criticized another woman in a while, maybe she’s too busy with Mia being kidnapped and all,” well, how silly of you for assuming Ana is ever too busy to tear down other women:
“May I help you ma’am?” The young woman gives me a bright, insincere smile, and for a moment I regret changing into jeans.
“I’d like to withdraw a large sum of money.”
Ms. Insincere Smile arches an even more insincere eyebrow.
From now on, I’ll be mentally swapping “Ana” for “Ms. Judgmental Cunt.”
Don’t give me that look. You know she’d call you worse if you accidentally crossed her path.
“you have an account with us?” she fails to hide her sarcasm.
“Yes,” I snap. “My husband and I have several accounts here. His name is Christian Grey.”
Her eyes widen fractionally and insincerity gives way to shock. Her eyes sweep up and down me once more, this time with a combination of disbelief and awe.
And then the teller runs into the back to stab herself in the throat with a letter opener because Christian Grey is off the market and she will never, ever be as special and perfect and shiny as Ana, so why is life worth living.
It seems to be a really depressing and annoying theme in this book that Ana is only afforded respect when people find out she’s polishing the royal Grey knob. Every single time she goes out in public, she has a run-in with Some Bitch ™ who acts nasty to her until she finds out that Ana is Christian Grey’s chosen cum depository. Only then is she treated like a human being worthy of not being constantly sneered at and shat upon. Ana is a college graduate who actually got employment right out of college in 2011. That’s something to stitch onto a banner and ride into battle with. But nope, that’s not important, and her education, career, and identity as an individual aren’t her defining characteristics. Getting down on Chedward’s boner is her identity, and without him, she would be worthless. What a great message, good job, E.L..
Because Ana walked in off the street and casually tried to withdraw five million, Ms. Unfortunate Victim of Being Female in Proximity to Ana has to go and get the manager.
She scurries out. I sink into the seat, and a wave of nausea washes over me as the gun presses uncomfortably into the small of my back.
Ana brought a gun into a bank. Ana brought a firearm that was not registered to her into a bank. SHE BROUGHT A FUCKING GUN INTO A FUCKING BANK.
Okay, newsflash, E.L.? I realize that people in the UK honestly seem to believe that in America we run around shooting guns at each other willy-nilly and everybody is heavily armed all the time, but we do have like, laws and rules and shit. One of those rules– one that Ana would almost certainly know, even if she wasn’t Ms. Firearm Prodigy Because My Dad Was in The Army, that you cannot take a gun into a fucking bank. You know. Unless you want to go to Federal prison.
The bank manager comes out and introduces himself, then he explains that this is fucking Fantasyland, so it’s no problem for Ana to just walk out the goddamned door with a duffel bag full of cash:
“We normally ask for some notice for large amounts of money.” He pauses and flashes me a reassuring but supercilious smile. “Fortunately, however, we hold the cash reserve for the entire Pacific Northwest,” he boasts.
That’s bullshit. That’s “just google it and you’d know this was bullshit” bullshit. The Federal reserve for the 12th district (which is where Seattle is located) is in San Francisco. And it doesn’t hold the entire cash reserve for the district. And it’s not in Seattle. Not even a little bit. There is a Federal reserve branch in Seattle, absolutely… but you’re not going to open your savings or checking account there. That’s not what the Federal reserve does. Federal reserve branches are responsible for moving cash to commercial banks and other financial institutions when needed. There are no personal accounts in a Federal reserve bank.
Oh, hey. Ana rolled up into a Federal reserve branch with an unlicensed firearm. That would go awesome in real life.
If you were to call your bank to request a withdrawal of five million dollars, here’s what’s going to happen.
- They will ask you if they can write you a cashier’s check instead.
- They will inform you that if cash is absolutely necessary, they will need up to fourteen days to manage the withdrawal.
- During these fourteen days, they will report your withdrawal request to the FBI. Because they have to. It’s part of the Bank Secrecy Act and the Patriot act.
- A government agency will likely investigate why you need to withdraw a large amount of cash, to make sure it isn’t, you know. Ransom money. Or that you haven’t been caught in a scam, or that you’re not funding terrorism, etc.
- They will also be ordering the money. In this case, the bank is apparently the Federal reserve of Fiftyshadesland, so that’s not an issue. But were this based in reality at all, they would need to request that money from the local Federal reserve branch.
- They will hire extra security for the day of your transaction.
- They will likely alert local law enforcement to be present on the day of your transaction. This is for your safety, as well as the safety of other bank employees
- They will ask you how you plan to transport the money.
You don’t just roll into a bank and withdraw five million dollars. No, not even if you’re Christian Grey’s wife and it says it in really big letters on the top of your resumé. It. Doesn’t. Happen.
Furthermore, no bank manager in the history of ever, anywhere, is going to tell a bank customer, “Oh yeah, we’ve got five million just sitting in the vault.” They don’t want you to know that shit. Chances are, the tellers don’t even know how much money is in the vault.
“Mr. Wheelan, I’m in a hurry. What do I need to do? I have my driver’s license, and our joint account checkbook. Do I just write a check?”
Then Mr. Wheelan is like, “It’s kind of suspicious that you are in a hurry to leave this bank with a large amount of money when you’ve never made a single withdrawal from this account before. So… no, you can’t have the money, and I’m calling the police.”
Just kidding! He asks Ana for her driver’s license so he can process the transaction. This is where Ana hits her first snag, because she never changed her name on her driver’s license. So the moral of the story, ladies, is that if you don’t change you name like your husband told you to, someone could get kidnapped and die.
Ana gives the bank manager her black Amex and he says:
“Mrs. Anastasia Grey,” Whelan reads. “Yes, that should do.” He frowns. “This is highly irregular, Mrs. Grey.”
I swear to Christ, it takes four phone calls and an act of congress just to deposit a check over ten grand at my bank. Yeah, it’s super realistic that she could just get five million in cash.
Ana pulls the My Husband Will Think Badly of You card, and it works (protip: that would NOT work). The manager goes to get additional paperwork, and while in real life this is where he would be calling the cops, he comes back with Christian on the phone.
“You’re leaving me?” Christian’s words are an agonized, breathless whisper.
“No!” My voice mirrors his. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no– how can he think that? The money?He thinks I’m going because of the money? And in a moment of horrific clarity, I realize the only way I’m going to keep Christian at arm’s length, out of harm’s way, and to save his sister… is to lie.
Ana tells Christian she’s leaving him, and it’s not as satisfying as it should be because you know she’s lying. He asks her if it was always about the money. And then I’m like, “These people are dumb as fuck.” Because Chedward is worth billions… why would Ana take just five million dollars?
They have a long ass, dramatic, boring as fuck “I will always love you” moment, and then Whelan comes back in.
“Your husband has agreed to liquidate five million dollars worth of his assets, Mrs. Grey. This is highly irregular but as our main client… he was insistent… very insistent.”
Christian Grey is the main client of the United States Federal Reserve.
I can’t even with this bullshit anymore. If this book were well-written, I could suspend some disbelief. If the story was in anyway compelling, I could let shit slide. I realize that one of the biggest draws of the kinky billionaire genre is the money. And why wouldn’t it be? Everyone dreams of living a life where money isn’t an object. But the author didn’t even stop to think, “Hmmm… maybe it’s not as easy to withdraw five million as it is to withdraw fifty bucks, so I should probably figure out a different way around this plot point. It will be less dramatic, but more realistic, and therefore some poor woman in Michigan won’t take up drinking again.” NOPE! The falsely manufactured drama is so much more satisfying, even when it flies in the face of the possible.
Look, unless you’re writing actual fantasy, this shit:
Does not fly.
Ana signs the paperwork and the manager tells her that it will take them a half hour to prepare the money. Bull fucking shit it only takes that long to retrieve, count, and wrap up that much cash, but remember, this is the First National Bank of Fantasyland.
A few moments, minutes, hours later– I don’t know– Miss Insincere Smile reenters with a carafe of water and a glass.
“Mrs. Grey,” she says softly as she places the glass on the desk.
“Thank you.” I take the glass and drink gratefully.
Uh, if you’re so goddamned grateful, maybe you could stop calling her snide little nicknames in your head. Asshole.
I sit back in the chair, feeling the reassuring presence of Leila’s pistol at my waist, digging into my back. Who would have thought I’d ever feel grateful that Leila once pulled a gun on me. Oh, Ray, I’m so glad you taught me how to shoot.
But he didn’t teach you common sense, apparently. Like, “Don’t carry an unregistered, concealed firearm into a Federal building.”
The manager comes back to tell her that the money is ready, but there’s a complication. Sawyer has found her at the bank, probably to shoot her with a tranq dart and take her back to Escala. Because nobody leaves Christian Grey.
Sawyer could blow this whole plan. I gaze up at Whelan.
“There’s someone out there I don’t want to see. Someone following me.”
Whelan’s eyes widen.
“Do you want me to call the police?”
Like Ana is ever going to call the police. But it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m sorry, it just doesn’t. No bank manager in their right mind is going to be like, “Huh, this visibly disturbed woman just came in, requested to withdraw five million dollars, started crying, then a guy comes in and she’s like, ‘I’m being followed,'” and NOT CALL THE POLICE. This guy has a responsibility to call the cops. It’s part of his job.
Instead, Ana asks for privacy to make a phone call. She calls Jack, who tells her that he knows her security followed her, and also there’s a black SUV waiting at the rear of the bank. And Ana realizes that it’s the Dodge that followed them before, so mystery solved, I guess? He gives her three minutes, and she says:
“It may take longer than three minutes.” My heart leaps into my throat once more.
“You’re bright for a gold-digging whore, Grey. You figure it out. And dump your cell phone once you reach the vehicle. Got it bitch?”
REALLY? Does everyone in this story have to stroke Ana’s intelligence ego? Because you’re all wasting her breath. She doesn’t need her brain, now that she’s impressively fucking Mr. Impressive.
Ana asks the manager if he’ll help her take the money out of the back door of the bank. And he’s like, “No, because this is insane, and I’ve already called the police.”
Just kidding! He says:
“As you wish, Mrs. Grey. I’ll have two clerks help with the bags and two security guards to supervise. If you could follow me?”
Christian Grey is just that special, that a bank manager is going to risk something as dangerous as taking five million dollars cash out the back door with just two security guards and a couple of tellers.
Oh yeah. PS., in America we call them Tellers.
So, section break and:
Two minutes later my entourage and I are out on the street, heading over to the Dodge. Its windows are blacked out, and I can’t tell who’s at the wheel. But as we approach, the driver’s door swings open, and a woman clad in all black with a black cap pulled low over her face climbs gracefully out of the car. Elizabeth from the office! What the hell.
Elizabeth, you’ll remember, was the one who seemed “haunted” or some similar dramatic shit when discussing Jack’s assault of Ana.
She moves to the rear of the SUV and opens the trunk. The two young bank clerks carrying the money sling the heavy bags into the back.
Elizabeth greets Ana, and a little way down the page:
Whelan and his team disappear back into the bank, leaving me alone with the head of personnel at SIP , who’s involved in kidnapping, extortion, and very possibly other felonies.
Oh my god. I’ve figured it out. Ana really is bright. It’s just that in the world of 50 Shades, everyone is stupid. Real stupid. Idiocracy stupid. So Ana just seems smart. Because a smart person, a smart bank manager, would not look at this situation and go, “Obviously distraught woman, huge cash withdrawal, someone following her, unmarked black SUV and driver dressed all in black… sounds legit, let’s go back inside and not call the cops!”
Elizabeth tells Ana to hand over her cellphone, and Ana does. Then Elizabeth tells Ana to get into the car… and she does. Elizabeth is going to take Ana to Jack. Ana asks Elizabeth why she’s helping Jack:
“Does he have some kind of hold on you?” I ask. Her eyes shoot to mine and she slams on the brakes, throwing me forward so hard that I hit my face against the headrest of the front seat.
I’m so excited for this part of the movie.
“I said be quiet,” she snarls. “And I suggest you put on your seat belt.”
And in that moment I know that he does. Something so awful that she’s prepared to do this for him. I wonder briefly what that could be. Theft from the company? Something from her private life? Something sexual? I shudder at the thought. Christian said that none of Jack’s PAs would talk. Perhaps it’s the same story with all of them. That’s why he wanted to fuck me, too.
I wonder if all the former PAs have signed nondisclosure agreements. BOOM.
Elizabeth drives Ana to an abandoned building. Hey, you know what would have been a good idea, Ana? You could have pulled the gun on her, forced her to call Jack and tell him she had the money and was on the way, then you could have run to the police, and THEY COULD HAVE TRACKED DOWN JACK AND SAVED MIA.
But that’s not dramatic enough, so Ana has to go and confront Jack. He makes Elizabeth check the money, then he smacks Ana in the face, thus fulfilling the fantasy of every sane person reading this book:
The ferocious, unprovoked blow knocks me to the ground, and my head bounces with a sickening thud off the concrete. Pain explodes in my head, my eyes fill with tears, and my vision blurs as the shock of the impact resonates, unleashing agony that pulses through my skull.
Then he kicks her in the ribs, because I’m sure every single one of us would do the same.
“That’s for SIP, you fucking bitch!” Jack screams.
Damn. Publishing is a rough business.
Elizabeth yells at him to stop, and he does, to yell at Elizabeth, and then Ana pulls her gun and shoots him in the knee. IN THE KNEE.
Hey, here’s a tip. If you’re ever in a situation where someone is beating you to death? CENTER MASS.
I turn to face Elizabeth, and she’s gaping at me in horror and raising her hands above her head.
And Ana empties the clip into her, because she looked at Christian one time and also she’s blonde.
Just kidding. I don’t remember if she was blonde or not.
Ana drops the gun– after just wounding Jack and leaving the other kidnapper totally unscathed? I can’t remember how many shots she’s supposed to have in this gun. Is it a revolver or a pistol? Either way, she should have been able to get more than one bullet into Jack and another into Elizabeth. Or not, because remember, this is the gun that was described as all carbon fiber, so really she would have only been able to shoot it one time before it exploded into a thousand shards.
Also, if Ana had shot both of them and not dropped the gun, she would have been saving herself, and that’s not acceptable. Not when Christian Grey can magically appear– wait, wasn’t he supposed to be going to Portland in the last chapter?– to rescue Ana. In ALL CAPS, no less:
But there’s another chapter after this, so she’s unfortunately not dead.