Chapter 7 - THE GHOST IN THE DOORWAY
The silence in the room was absolute, heavy, and terrifying.
I couldn't breathe. I clutched Mia so tightly she whimpered, but my eyes were locked on the woman standing in the doorway of the Plaza ballroom.
Eleanor Whitmore.
She was older than the oil portraits in the Whitmore estate, her hair stark white and pulled back into a severe bun. She wore a tailored black coat that looked like mourning attire, and her eyes—ice-cold and piercing—were fixed entirely on Alexander.
“Mother?” Alexander whispered. The word sounded like it was ripped from his throat. His entire body trembled. “You’re… you’re dead. You died of cancer ten years ago.”
Eleanor took a slow, measured step into the room. The clicking of her sensible heels echoed against the marble.
“I had to die, Alexander,” Eleanor said smoothly, her voice devoid of any maternal warmth. “It was the only way to protect what belonged to us.”
Margaret let out a horrific gasp, clutching her pearl necklace as if she were choking. “Eleanor? My God, you faked your own death? Why?!”
Eleanor didn't even look at her sister-in-law. She looked at Richard, who was still bleeding on the floor.
“Because my idiot brother-in-law here got sloppy,” Eleanor said, her lip curling in disgust. “Richard was stealing millions from the company. The auditors were closing in. If the scandal broke, the Whitmore name would be ruined. So, I made a deal with him.”
Richard laughed a wet, pathetic laugh. “She blackmailed me. The great Eleanor Whitmore. She found out I was embezzling, and she promised to keep my secret if I helped her stage her death.”
Alexander looked like a little boy, lost and broken. “But why, Mother? Why did you leave me?”
“Because of her,” Eleanor snapped, finally pointing a manicured finger at me.
I shrank back.
“Edward never stopped looking for Elizabeth,” Eleanor hissed, her eyes filled with decades of bitter rage. “Even after I forced that little tramp onto a train, Edward spent a fortune on private investigators. He finally found her in Queens. He told me he wanted a divorce. He was going to bring his bastard daughter into my house!”
“So you killed him,” I whispered, the horror of it washing over me.
Eleanor’s eyes locked onto mine. “I protected my son’s inheritance. I went down to the garage that night. I cut the brake lines myself. I knew Thomas was driving him. Thomas was a disposable drunk. I paid him fifty thousand dollars to keep his mouth shut and take the blame if anyone asked questions.”
Vanessa let out a guttural scream. “You used my father! You ruined my family!”
“Your family was already ruined, you little gutter rat,” Eleanor spat at Vanessa without breaking stride.
Eleanor walked toward the head table. She looked at the giant wedding cake, the shattered glasses, and then down at the broken wooden rosary in my hand.
“Give me the key, Olivia,” Eleanor demanded, holding out her hand.
I took a step back. “No.”
“That key opens the lockbox in the bank,” Eleanor said, her voice dropping to a dangerous hiss. “The lockbox that holds the security tape of me in the garage. Edward found the tape. He put it in the vault before he died. He was going to use it to destroy me in the divorce. Hand it over.”
“No!” Alexander yelled, stepping between me and his mother.
He looked at her with a mixture of heartbreak and pure rage.
“You murdered my father,” Alexander choked out, tears spilling down his face. “You let me mourn you for ten years. You let me stand at an empty grave and cry for you! All for money?!”
“For the family name!” Eleanor shouted back, finally losing her aristocratic cool. “If Edward had brought that whore’s child into the estate, you would have been a laughingstock! You would have lost half your fortune!”
“I don't care about the fortune!” Alexander roared. “I would have had a sister! I would have had a family that wasn't built on blood and lies!”
Eleanor sneered. “You are weak. Just like your father.”
She reached into her black coat.
When she pulled her hand out, she wasn't holding a weapon.
She was holding a small, black remote control.
“I didn't come here to argue,” Eleanor said coldly. “I paid a waiter to lock the kitchen doors from the outside. I locked the main ballroom doors behind me.”
Margaret gasped, rushing to the heavy oak double doors at the entrance. She pulled on the brass handles. They didn't budge. We were locked in.
“What are you doing?” Alexander demanded.
“I’m cleaning up a mess,” Eleanor said. She pressed a button on the remote.
Immediately, the heavy velvet curtains at the back of the room burst into flames.
Someone had doused them in accelerant. The fire roared upward, instantly catching the decorative tulle draped across the ceiling. Black smoke began to billow into the room.
“Mother, no!” Alexander screamed, lunging for her.
But Eleanor stepped backward, slipping through a small side door that led to the service elevator. The door slammed shut behind her, and a heavy deadbolt clicked into place.
She was gone.
The heat in the room spiked. The fire was spreading terrifyingly fast, crawling along the floral centerpieces on the guest tables.
“The doors won't open!” Margaret cried, pulling frantically at the brass handles.
Vanessa was screaming, paralyzed on the floor, her massive wedding dress preventing her from moving quickly.
“Mommy!” Mia shrieked, burying her face in my chest as the smoke grew thicker.
“Hold on to me, baby!” I yelled over the roar of the flames.
Alexander grabbed a heavy metal chair and ran to the main doors. He swung it like a baseball bat, smashing it against the thick oak. The wood splintered, but the heavy iron lock held firm.
Richard was coughing on the floor, too injured to stand. “We’re going to burn! We’re going to die in here!”
I looked wildly around the room. The windows were too high, reinforced with hotel safety glass. The doors were locked. The fire was cutting off the back half of the ballroom.
Then, I saw it.
Through the thick black smoke, tucked behind the massive five-tier wedding cake, was a small brass grate. An old hotel service dumbwaiter.
“Alexander!” I screamed, pointing toward the cake. “The dumbwaiter!”
Alexander dropped the chair and ran. He shoved the heavy wedding cake table out of the way. The cake toppled, smashing onto the floor in a mess of white frosting and sponge.
He ripped the brass grate off the wall. Inside was a small wooden box, suspended by thick steel cables, leading down to the kitchens.
“It’s too small for an adult!” Alexander yelled over the fire.
I looked down at Mia.
I grabbed my daughter by the shoulders and looked deep into her terrified eyes.
“Mia, listen to me,” I cried, tears streaming down my face. “You are going to get in that box. It’s going to go down. When it stops, you run as fast as you can outside. Do you understand?”
Mia sobbed, gripping my apron. “No! Mommy, come with me!”
“I can’t fit, baby,” I choked, kissing her forehead fiercely. I pressed the tiny brass vault key into her hand and closed her fingers around it. “Keep this safe. I love you so much.”
I lifted her into the dumbwaiter.
May you like
Alexander hit the release lever.
The box dropped into the darkness just as the chandelier above us exploded from the heat.
