Chapter 8 - The Fire Wasn't an Accident
Cassandra sank into the chair.
For the first time since I'd met her, she looked small.
Not elegant.
Not cruel.
Just lost.
Dominic read the document twice.
Then he gave it to Marcus.
“Can this be authenticated?”
“If Victor has the original records.”
“I do.”
Victor pointed toward the wall.
“Your mother hid copies throughout the East Wing.”
Dominic turned toward Cassandra’s armed man.
“Release Marcus.”
The man hesitated.
Cassandra didn't move.
“Cassandra?” he asked.
She stared at the floor.
Dominic stepped toward him.
“You're standing in my house.”
The man released Marcus.
Marcus immediately disarmed him and pushed him against the wall.
Cassandra didn't react.
I almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
Then I touched the welt on my shoulder.
Pain has a way of reminding you not to confuse explanation with forgiveness.
Dominic looked at Victor.
“Tell me about the fire.”
Victor sighed.
“Arthur discovered your mother was documenting his deals.”
“What deals?”
“Bribery. Extortion. Protection arrangements. Judges, union officials, contractors.”
Dominic’s face hardened.
“He kept me away from the financial side back then.”
“Because you still had a conscience.”
“That didn't last.”
Victor looked at him carefully.
“No.”
Dominic accepted the hit.
Victor continued.
“Your mother planned to leave with both girls.”
“But she didn't.”
“Arthur found out.”
The lights flickered again.
Marcus looked upward.
“Backup power shouldn't be doing that.”
Victor’s face changed.
“We need to move.”
“Why?”
“Because someone else is still here.”
A smell reached me.
Gasoline.
Not smoke.
Not old wood.
Fresh gasoline.
I turned toward the hall.
“Oh my God.”
Flames flashed at the far end.
Marcus shouted, “Move!”
Fire rushed along the floor.
Someone had poured fuel through the corridor.
Dominic grabbed my arm.
Victor pulled Cassandra up.
We ran toward the hidden passage.
Behind us, the old nursery ignited.
The tape.
The photos.
The documents.
“No!”
I turned back.
Dominic caught me.
“Leave it.”
“That's my life!”
“You are your life.”
He pulled me into the passage.
Marcus slammed the iron door.
Smoke followed us.
We ran.
Halfway through the tunnel, Victor stumbled.
I caught him.
“Keep moving.”
“I can't.”
“Yes, you can.”
He looked at me.
“You sound like Lucia.”
That nearly broke me.
A loud explosion shook the tunnel.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
Cassandra screamed.
Marcus pushed everyone forward.
We emerged into the library.
Sprinklers had activated.
Security teams were racing through the halls.
Dominic grabbed the nearest guard.
“Who started it?”
“We caught someone near the west entrance.”
“Who?”
The guard looked toward Cassandra.
“Her mother.”
Cassandra went still.
“That's impossible.”
Margaret Vance was brought into the library two minutes later.
Sixty-two.
Perfect gray-blonde hair.
Cream-colored coat.
No panic in her face.
She looked at the smoke pouring from the East Wing.
Then at Cassandra.
“You were supposed to leave before I lit it.”
Cassandra whispered, “Mom?”
Margaret’s eyes moved to me.
She recognized me immediately.
Not the locket.
Me.
May you like
Her face twisted.
“Lucia should have let you burn.”
