Chapter 5 - THE THREAT IN THE COURTYARD
Before Adrian could reach the sitting room door, the mansion’s backup generator hummed to life with a low, vibrating growl. The chandelier overhead flickered and went out, leaving the room illuminated only by the dying orange glow of the fireplace.
"Marco, get on the perimeter," Adrian ordered, his voice dropping into the cold, calculated cadence of a street commander. "No one leaves this estate. No one enters."
"Boss, it's not an outside crew," Marco said, checking the tactical display on his phone. "It's Eleanor's private drivers. Two black Suburbans just rammed the western service gate."
Olivia stirred on the canopy bed. The sudden loss of light woke her.
"Daddy?" she whimpered, sitting up in the shadows. Her splinted arm pressed against her chest. "Daddy, are the bad people coming back?"
Adrian was beside her bed in an instant. He dropped to one knee, wrapping his powerful arms around her small shoulders, shielding her with his body. "No, baby. Nobody is coming in here. Daddy has you. Rachel is right here."
"Mr. Romano," I whispered, peering through the heavy velvet curtains down into the courtyard below.
Beneath the misty drizzle, Eleanor Whitmore stood in front of the fountain. She had discarded her fur stole, wearing a dark trench coat. Beside her stood two large men in dark jackets, both carrying crowbars and industrial bolt cutters. But Camille was not with them.
"Where is Camille?" I asked, turning back toward Adrian.
A faint click echoed from the corridor just outside Elizabeth’s sitting room.
Adrian pushed Olivia behind him onto the pillows and drew a sleek black automatic from beneath his waistband. He moved to the threshold, his footsteps silent on the rug.
The heavy mahogany door swung slowly inward.
Camille stood in the entryway.
Her burgundy dress was torn at the shoulder, her hair clinging to her damp face. In her trembling hand, she wasn't holding a weapon. She was holding a crumpled piece of paper and an old, tarnished brass key—the master key to the estate's wine cellar and underground boiler rooms.
"Don't shoot," she croaked, her voice hoarse from crying. "Adrian, please. You have to listen to me."
Adrian kept the barrel trained squarely between her eyes. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't end this right now."
"Because my mother set the fire," Camille gasped, collapsing against the doorframe. "In the east wing basement. Under the old nursery."
My heart stopped. The east wing basement was directly below the room where Elizabeth’s childhood keepsakes, artwork, and family records were stored. But more importantly, the central gas lines for the entire estate ran through that specific foundation wall.
"You're lying," Adrian said, though his eyes narrowed. "You're trying to create a distraction so Eleanor can breach the front gate."
"Look out the courtyard window!" Camille screamed, tears cutting tracks through the soot on her cheeks. "Look at the basement grates!"
I pulled the curtain back further. Thick, black smoke was beginning to billow from the iron ground grates near the rose garden, carrying the sharp, unmistakable stench of burning gasoline.
"Eleanor took the ledger files from my car," Camille wept, burying her face in her hands. "She said if we were going down, she was going to burn every piece of evidence that tied her to Elizabeth's crash! She locked the boiler room doors from the outside! The gas main is right next to the furnace!"
Olivia let out a terrified cry from the bed. "Mommy's paintings are down there! The picture Mommy drew of me when I was a baby!"
Adrian turned to me, the agony of an impossible choice tearing across his features.
If he went down to shut off the gas main, the sitting room would be unguarded if Eleanor's men breached the house. If he stayed to protect Olivia, the entire east wing could ignite within ten minutes.
"Marco can't reach the shutoff," Adrian gritted out. "The primary valve requires the master key Camille holds, and it takes two men to turn the vintage iron wheel."
I stepped forward and took the master key from Camille's shaking hand.
"Rachel, no," Adrian said fiercely. "You are not going down there."
"I know this house, Mr. Romano," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "I clean that basement every Tuesday. I know where the emergency shutoff bypass is, and I know how to crawl through the laundry chute if the stairwell is blocked."
"I won't let you die for my family's sins," he growled.
"I'm not dying for your sins," I replied, taking the heavy flashlight from the mantelpiece. "I'm saving this little girl's memories. Take Olivia to the secure panic room behind your study on the second floor. Marco can hold that reinforced door against an army. Go!"
Adrian stared at me for one second—a look of fierce, unyielding gratitude passing between us that needed no words. He leaned down, swept Olivia into his arms, and sprinted toward the west wing.
May you like
I turned to Camille, grabbing her by the wrist with a strength I didn't know I possessed.
"You wanted to prove you weren't a monster?" I said coldly into her face. "You're coming with me to turn that wheel."
