Chapter 6 - THE FLAME IN THE WEST WING
The sound of shattering glass sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through the room.
Before Dominic or his security detail could react, little Leo let out a frightened cry and buried his face against Sophie’s apron. “That came from the cottage! That’s where my dad keeps the spare generator fuel!”
Dominic bolted toward the hallway, his long stride covering the polished floor in seconds. Captain Miller was right behind him, his trench coat billowing out like a dark cape, while Arthur Hawthorne slumped back against the mahogany sideboard, completely ignored by everyone in the room.
Sophie knelt down, wrapping her arms securely around trembling little Leo, while Eleanor stood guard beside them, her jaw set with fierce, maternal defiance.
“Stay right here, sweetheart,” Sophie whispered into the boy’s hair, though her own heart was hammering against her ribs. “Everything’s going to be okay. Mr. Dominic won't let anything happen.”
Down the long, dimly lit corridor of the west wing, thick plumes of black smoke were already billowing out from under the heavy oak door connecting the main manor to the old estate staff quarters and tool storage bay. The acrid smell of burning gasoline and scorched timber instantly filled the air, stinging everyone’s eyes.
Dominic reached the door first, throwing his shoulder against it. The lock splintered under his weight, bursting the door inward.
Inside the small utility room, flames were already licking up the wooden paneling toward the exposed ceiling beams. Through the orange glow and choking smoke, a figure was frantically trying to pry open a heavy steel floor safe embedded in the concrete foundation—the secondary archive vault where the original estate title deeds were stored.
It wasn’t a hired intruder. It was Julian Vance.
The attorney’s suit jacket was discarded on the floor, his shirtsleeves rolled up, and his hands were blackened with soot as he frantically jammed a heavy iron crowbar into the safe’s combination dial, muttering incoherently to himself.
“Julian! Are you out of your mind?” Dominic shouted over the roaring crackle of the fire, lunging forward through the smoke and grabbing the attorney by the collar, hauling him away from the vault before a falling timber could strike him.
Julian thrashed wildly, his eyes bloodshot and wide with manic panic. “Let me go! If those deeds burn, the chain of title is broken forever! Hawthorne’s shell companies own the land legally if there’s no paper trail left to prove otherwise! Let me get the master ledger!”
“The ledger isn't worth your life, you fool!” Dominic roared, sweeping the smaller man off his feet and dragging him backward out of the burning room just as a section of the shelving collapsed in a shower of sparks.
Captain Miller grabbed a heavy fire extinguisher from the hallway wall, pulling the pin and sweeping the chemical foam across the base of the flames, beating back the wall of fire before it could jump to the main corridor.
As the smoke cleared slightly, Julian collapsed onto his knees on the stone floor of the hallway, coughing violently, his face smeared with soot and ash. His gold-rimmed spectacles were bent double, one lens completely shattered.
Cassandra appeared at the edge of the hallway, her designer gown stained with dust, staring down at the ruined utility room with a look of absolute horror.
“Julian... you idiot,” Cassandra whispered, her voice trembling. “You were trying to destroy the evidence to protect my father’s syndicate... and you almost burned down the entire west wing.”
Julian looked up, his lips curling into a bitter, broken smile through the smoke. “Protect your father? Hawthorne threatened to plant the embezzlement charges entirely on me if the audit went public. I was trying to save myself, Cassandra. There is no honor among thieves—and certainly none left in this family.”
Dominic handed the coughing attorney over to two estate security guards who had finally arrived on the scene.
“Take him to the holding room in the basement and lock the door,” Dominic ordered coldly. “Call the state police barracks. Tell them we have two voluntary confessions waiting for pickup, along with digital backups of every fraudulent land transfer executed in this county over the last decade.”
As the guards hauled the broken attorney away, Dominic turned back down the corridor. He walked slowly back toward the dining room, his face etched with exhaustion, but his eyes burning with a fierce, resolute clarity.
When he re-entered the dining room, he found Sophie sitting quietly at the edge of the table, comforting little Leo, while Eleanor stood vigil beside them, gently stroking the silver pocket watch she had recovered from the iron box.
Dominic stopped a few feet away, looking down at the eighty-two-year-old widow and the young housemaid who had risked her livelihood—and potentially her safety—to stand up for justice.
“Sophie,” Dominic said softly, his voice cutting through the lingering tension in the room.
Sophie looked up, her heart skipping a beat as she met his steady gaze.
May you like
Before she could speak, Dominic reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, heavy brass key—the exact key to the main gates of the memorial garden.
“The gates are unlocked,” Dominic said, holding the key out toward her. “And tomorrow morning, we’re going to plant a brand-new circle of white roses around William Price’s grave.”
