Chapter 7 - The Second Fire
For one terrible second, none of us moved.
The smoke thickened beneath the steel door.
A woman struck the other side with both hands.
“Amy!”
It was Lydia.
Maverick stepped toward the door.
Charles moved the gun.
“Stay where you are.”
“That’s my sister.”
“She made her choice.”
Maverick stared at his father.
“You said she was somewhere safe.”
“She was safe until she contacted Nora.”
The pounding continued.
Penelope’s voice joined Lydia’s.
“Open the door!”
Both women were inside.
Whatever partnership Penelope believed she had with Charles had ended.
My father moved forward.
“Charles, put the gun down.”
Charles laughed.
“You do not get to become brave thirty-two years late.”
“There are people trapped behind that door.”
“There were people trapped behind it the first time too.”
My father’s face twisted.
“That was an accident.”
“Your decision was not.”
“You started the fire.”
My mother gasped.
Charles’s expression became empty.
“You have spent decades telling yourself that story.”
“You poured solvent through the service shaft.”
“Can you prove it?”
“The ledgers can.”
“Then it is fortunate those records are about to disappear.”
The smell of burning paper entered the hallway.
Charles had set fire to whatever remained inside Room 237.
The original evidence.
Lydia.
Penelope.
He intended to destroy all of it together.
Aunt Rose moved her hand toward the lock.
Charles pointed the gun at her.
“Remove the key.”
She kept it in place.
“You never had Rebecca’s courage,” Rose said.
Something changed in his face.
It was small but visible.
“You watched her die.”
“You murdered her.”
“She chose blackmail.”
“She chose to expose you.”
“She was stealing money.”
“So were you.”
Aunt Rose turned the key.
The lock clicked.
Charles fired.
The explosion inside the narrow corridor deafened me.
My mother screamed.
Aunt Rose fell against the wall.
I grabbed her before she reached the floor.
Blood spread across the sleeve of her coat.
The bullet had struck her upper arm.
Nora sprayed Charles directly in the face.
He shouted and fired again.
The second bullet struck the ceiling.
My father lunged.
They crashed into the opposite wall.
Maverick reached for the gun.
For one hopeful moment, I thought he intended to help us.
Then he pulled the weapon from his father’s hand and pointed it toward Nora.
“Back away.”
His face was pale.
His hands shook.
“Open the door,” I said.
“You don’t understand.”
“Your sister is inside.”
“She betrayed us.”
“She tried to stop you from declaring me mentally incompetent.”
Maverick’s eyes flashed.
“That petition was protection.”
“For whom?”
“For the company.”
“You mean the company you planned to steal.”
“I would have saved Hartwell.”
“By making me a prisoner.”
“You would have kept your life.”
The smoke grew darker.
Lydia’s pounding weakened.
My father still held Charles against the wall.
Both men were coughing from the spray.
My mother knelt beside Aunt Rose, pressing fabric against the wound.
Nora watched Maverick.
“Every second you delay increases the charges against you.”
“Stop talking like this is a courtroom.”
“It will be.”
Maverick pointed the gun at me.
“Give me the key.”
“It is already inside the lock.”
“Turn it back.”
“No.”
“Amy.”
His voice softened.
That familiar tone had once made me believe every cruel silence contained hidden tenderness.
Now I heard only manipulation.
“You loved me yesterday,” he said.
“I loved someone who did not exist.”
“We can still make an agreement.”
“Your father shot my aunt.”
“He panicked.”
“Your family planned to erase my identity.”
“My family planned to protect what our fathers built.”
“Seventeen people died building it.”
“Those deaths happened before we were born.”
“They still happened.”
“We cannot destroy thousands of lives to correct something from thirty years ago.”
“You were willing to destroy mine.”
His hand trembled harder.
The gun moved slightly away from my chest.
Nora saw it.
She kicked the weapon upward.
Maverick fired.
The bullet struck a wall.
I turned the key and pulled the door.
It did not open.
Something blocked it from inside.
“Push!” Lydia screamed.
My mother and I threw our weight against the door.
It moved several inches.
Smoke poured into the corridor.
I could see flames crawling across papers on the floor.
A metal cabinet had fallen against the door.
Penelope appeared through the gap.
Her face was covered with soot.
She shoved the cabinet with both hands.
Maverick and Nora struggled behind us.
Charles broke free from my father and ran toward the staircase.
Daniel grabbed his jacket.
Charles struck him in the face.
Both men disappeared into the smoke near the landing.
“Again,” I shouted.
We pushed.
The gap widened.
Lydia crawled through first.
Her wrists were bound with plastic ties.
She collapsed onto the floor, coughing violently.
Penelope followed.
Blood ran down one side of her face.
She clutched a black ledger against her chest.
Aunt Rose stared at it.
“The original.”
Penelope nodded.
“Part of it.”
The ceiling inside Room 237 cracked.
Flaming debris struck the floor.
“We have to leave,” Nora shouted.
Maverick lay near the wall.
The gun rested several feet away.
He reached for Penelope.
She stepped around him.
“You left us inside.”
“My father locked the door.”
“You watched.”
His face crumpled.
“I thought he would let you out.”
Penelope looked at him with the same horror I had felt inside the hotel.
She was finally seeing the man she had chosen.
Not the promises.
Not the secret tenderness.
Not the imagined future.
The man.
We moved toward the stairwell.
Aunt Rose could walk, but blood continued soaking through the fabric around her arm.
My mother supported her.
Nora cut Lydia’s restraints with a small knife from her keychain.
The fire alarm did not sound.
The system had never been restored.
Smoke filled the upper corridor.
“Where is Dad?” I asked.
No one had seen him return.
I started toward the staircase.
Nora grabbed my arm.
“You cannot go after him.”
“He followed Charles.”
“The building is burning.”
“He is still my father.”
“That does not make you fireproof.”
A crash sounded below.
Then my father shouted.
I pulled away.
Nora cursed and followed me.
We descended through smoke.
The first-floor corridor had begun burning near the service entrance.
Charles lay beneath a fallen beam.
My father was trying to lift it.
“Help me,” he shouted.
I stared at Charles.
The man who had pointed a gun at me.
The man who had trapped two women inside a burning room.
The man who may have murdered Rebecca Cole and seventeen others.
For one second, I wanted to leave him.
The thought frightened me less than it should have.
My father looked at my face.
“Amy.”
“He tried to kill us.”
“I know.”
“He started both fires.”
“I know.”
“Why are you saving him?”
My father pushed against the beam.
“Because I left someone behind once.”
The answer reached the part of me that still remembered being nine years old beside a memorial wall.
I grabbed the beam.
Nora helped.
Together, we lifted it enough for my father to pull Charles free.
His leg was badly injured.
He moaned but remained conscious.
“You should have left me,” he whispered.
My father dragged him toward the exit.
“I already have to live with doing that once.”
We reached the service door as flames spread across the ceiling.
Outside, distant sirens approached.
My mother sat in the grass with Aunt Rose.
Lydia leaned against Nora’s car.
Penelope stood several yards away, still holding the ledger.
Maverick emerged last.
He stumbled through the doorway seconds before part of the roof collapsed.
Fire illuminated the broken hotel windows.
Police vehicles and fire engines entered through the service gate.
Officers ordered everyone to the ground.
Nora raised her hands and identified herself as an attorney.
Paramedics rushed toward Aunt Rose and Charles.
Maverick dropped to his knees.
Penelope remained standing.
An officer approached her.
“Put down the object.”
She looked at the ledger.
Then at me.
“If I give this to them, your father goes to prison too.”
My father heard her.
He sat in the grass with blood running from his nose.
“I know.”
Penelope’s eyes filled with tears.
“You knew my father warned you.”
“Yes.”
“You removed his report.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I was a coward.”
She stepped toward him.
An officer raised his weapon.
“Ma’am, stop.”
Penelope ignored him.
“My father died because of you.”
My father did not defend himself.
“Yes.”
She struck him across the face with the ledger.
The sound was dull.
He remained seated.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Penelope raised the book again.
I caught her wrist.
She looked at me with hatred, grief, and betrayal.
“You’re protecting him.”
“No.”
“Then let me do this.”
“If you kill him, Charles wins.”
Her breathing broke.
The ledger slipped from her fingers.
I picked it up.
The cover was burned along one edge.
Inside were invoices, maintenance reports, payments, and handwritten notes.
My grandfather had documented everything.
Near the center, a photograph had been taped to a page.
It showed Rebecca Cole standing beside Elliot Grant.
Penelope’s father.
They were holding the original wiring invoices.
A sentence was written beneath the picture.
Rebecca and Elliot will deliver copies to federal investigators on Monday.
The fire had occurred Sunday night.
They were not victims of a random accident.
They had been witnesses preparing to speak.
An officer placed handcuffs on Maverick.
Another detained Penelope.
Charles was loaded into an ambulance under guard.
My father stood voluntarily and extended his wrists.
My mother began crying.
“Daniel, no.”
He looked at her.
“I should have done this thirty-two years ago.”
A detective approached me.
“Ms. Hart, we need the ledger.”
I held it against my chest.
Nora stepped beside me.
“We will provide it after documenting each page with independent counsel present.”
The detective frowned.
“This is evidence from a possible attempted murder and arson.”
“It is also evidence implicating individuals with political connections.”
Nora looked toward the flashing lights.
“It will not disappear inside a property room.”
The detective considered arguing.
A second officer called him away.
Aunt Rose was placed on a stretcher.
Before the paramedics lifted her, she reached for my hand.
“The cassette.”
“What?”
“The cassette from Samuel’s box.”
“It’s in your purse.”
“No.”
Her eyes moved toward my mother.
“I gave the purse to Elaine before we entered.”
I turned.
My mother stood near our car.
The purse hung from her shoulder.
“Keep it safe,” Aunt Rose whispered.
A paramedic closed the ambulance doors.
I walked toward my mother.
She looked exhausted and terrified.
“Give me Rose’s purse.”
Her hand tightened around the strap.
“Why?”
“The cassette.”
“What cassette?”
“The one Grandfather left.”
She stared at me.
Behind us, fire consumed the upper floor of the Westbridge Hartwell.
“Mom.”
My mother slowly opened the purse.
The metal box remained inside.
The keys remained inside.
The cassette was gone.
Before I could speak, my mother whispered, “Your father wasn’t the only person who knew what happened to Rebecca.”
I looked at her.
May you like
Tears slid down her face.
“I took the tape because my voice is on it too.”
