Chapter 8 - The Basement Door They Wanted Me to Open
When the west-wing lights died, Oliver ran toward me.
I caught his hand before he reached the basement stairs.
“Stay here.”
“But Grandma's down there.”
My stomach tightened.
Mrs. Bell had gone to the old storage pantry for extra serving platters. The basement corridor was connected to the building's service elevators and the old archive rooms.
“Oliver, find Claire and stay with her.”
He didn't argue this time.
I found Dominic at the top of the stairs. Security had already arrived, but the alarm panel showed conflicting signals. One door read open; another read secured; the cameras displayed frozen images.
“Nolan's system,” I said.
Dominic nodded. “Stay upstairs.”
“My friend is downstairs.”
“We're going to get her.”
He didn't grab my arm or order someone to drag me away. He looked at my stomach, then at the stairs, and spoke with unusual patience.
“June, if you go down and something happens, two people could get hurt instead of one. Give us the information we need.”
I hated that he was right.
“Pantry corridor. Third door left. Mrs. Bell carries a small flashlight in her apron.”
He repeated the details to the security lead.
They descended with emergency lamps.
I stood at the top of the stairs counting seconds.
It was something I'd done at the hospital when the nurses wheeled me into imaging because of unexplained pain. The doctors told me everything would probably be fine. Counting made uncertainty feel like it had edges.
After two minutes, Mrs. Bell appeared supported by a security guard. Her ankle had twisted when she stumbled in the dark, but she was conscious and furious.
“Who turns off a staircase light during a party?” she demanded.
Relief nearly folded my knees.
I led her to a chair and asked for an ice pack. Oliver pressed against her side, trying not to cry.
Dominic returned carrying a black metal case from the basement archive. The lock had been forced. The shelves inside held employee records and old footage drives.
“Why would anybody go after that?” I asked.
He opened the case.
Empty.
The original recordings from the household-theft investigations had been stored there for transfer to the outside auditor.
“They're destroying evidence,” I whispered.
Dominic looked toward the ballroom. Victor had vanished.
Oliver refused to release his grandmother's hand while I found her a pillow. His small fingers kept adjusting the edge of the blanket as though getting it straight would keep everyone safe. Mrs. Bell touched his cheek and told him she had survived worse stairs while carrying a pan of lasagna. He tried to smile.
“Is somebody trying to hurt us?” he asked.
No one answered immediately. I wanted to promise him that nothing bad could happen in a house this enormous, with security cameras and iron gates. But I'd seen how often those things were used to reassure people while problems grew behind closed doors.
“The grown-ups are working to make the house safe,” I said. “And if you're scared, you can say so.”
Oliver nodded, eyes wet, and climbed carefully beside his grandmother. I looked across the hallway at the broken archive lock. The sound of that alarm would probably stay with him longer than anyone wanted. I hoped somebody would remember to ask how he was doing after the damage was repaired.
Police arrived within minutes. Detective Bennett took charge of the suspected burglary, working with local officers. Dominic told her about the charity records, Evan, the forged payroll charges, and the evidence case.
She listened without appearing surprised.
“Your security system has been compromised for a long time,” she said. “We should assume anyone with administrative access could have altered records.”
“You think Victor arranged the blackout?” Dominic asked.
“I think that's one hypothesis,” Bennett said. “We need evidence.”
I appreciated her refusal to turn suspicion into certainty. It was a habit the mansion badly needed.
The guests were ushered out. The band packed up without finishing its last song. The house looked suddenly older once the party lights came back on.
Near midnight, Bennett took my statement about Victor's confrontation and the locker envelope. She asked whether I wanted to leave the estate temporarily.
I looked at Mrs. Bell, resting with her ankle elevated, and at Oliver asleep beside her. Then I looked at the hallway where the archive door had been broken.
“I do,” I admitted.
Dominic arranged a hotel room at a property his family didn't own, and Bennett helped me contact a victim-support advocate who explained my options. I took the offer. I had learned that help didn't have to mean surrendering the right to choose.
Before I left, Dominic handed me a folder.
“The original payroll entries involving Evan,” he said. “Copies for your lawyer and Detective Bennett. I've already sent the originals to investigators.”
I opened it. A project invoice placed Evan at Cedar Pier shortly before he disappeared. Another entry recorded a service visit after his disappearance.
I read the timestamp.
11:38 p.m.
The photograph I'd received showed him beside a green metal door. The service log identified that door's warehouse: Cedar Pier Building Four.
I felt cold.
“You knew this place existed.”
“I knew the site. I didn't know the entry was tied to Evan.”
The distinction mattered, even if I hated it.
Back at the hotel, I stared at the green door in the photograph. I enlarged the corner of the image. A chipped white letter was visible near the handle.
Not a B.
A number four.
I called Bennett.
“I think I know where the photograph was taken.”
“Tell me.”
“Building Four. Cedar Pier.”
She asked me not to go there. She had already requested a warrant for business records and would evaluate whether there were grounds for a welfare check or search.
I promised I wouldn't go.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A video appeared.
Evan, seated in a dim room, alive and frightened. He held a sheet of paper in one hand.
He looked into the camera.
“June, if you see this, don't trust Dominic Rinaldi.”
The video ended.
I watched it five times.
Not because I believed the warning.
May you like
Because I didn't know whether Evan had said it freely.
And because the man I had begun to trust might be exactly the person my husband feared.
