Chapter 4 - Fire Beneath the Stables
Thomas threw his shoulder against the shelter door.
It did not move.
Someone had locked the trapdoor from above.
Smoke thickened along the ceiling.
The detained man had escaped or received help.
I searched the concrete room.
Storm shelters were built with secondary exits.
My father would never trust a room with only one way out.
A metal shelf covered part of the southern wall.
Thomas and I dragged it aside.
Behind it was a narrow service hatch.
The hinges had rusted.
We kicked until the panel tore free.
The passage beyond sloped upward toward the paddock.
Thomas crawled first.
I followed with the recorder beneath my shirt.
Heat spread through the tunnel.
The stable roof cracked above us.
We emerged beside the horse trough as flames consumed the western wall.
Security officers pulled us away.
Conrad stood near the mansion watching the fire.
He appeared more irritated than alarmed.
The gray-suited intruder was gone.
His restraints lay cut beside the motorcycle.
“Who released him?” I demanded.
No one answered.
Conrad approached.
“This is exactly why you should have left the investigation to professionals.”
“You knew there was an investigation before I told you.”
He smiled faintly.
“Your father discussed concerns with me before his death.”
“Concerns that you were stealing from him?”
His smile disappeared.
Victoria arrived wearing sunglasses despite the smoke-darkened sky.
“You destroyed the stable.”
“You locked me inside it.”
“That is absurd.”
“The man your attorney sent carried a message ordering him to steal the Sterling file.”
Conrad’s gaze moved toward Thomas.
“Do you have the phone?”
Thomas reached inside his jacket.
The pocket was empty.
His face changed.
Someone had taken it while pulling him from the tunnel.
Conrad sighed.
“So there is no message.”
I lifted the recorder.
“There is my father’s statement.”
Victoria went still.
Conrad recovered faster.
“A recording made by a sick man under stress proves very little.”
“It proves enough for an autopsy.”
Victoria removed her sunglasses.
“Your father was cremated.”
The words struck me harder than the fire.
My father had spent years maintaining the Sterling family cemetery near Galveston.
He had chosen his burial plot beside my mother.
He hated cremation.
“You burned his body?”
“It was his final request.”
“No.”
Grandma’s voice came from behind us.
Elena had brought her outside in a wheelchair.
“He wanted to be buried beside Anne.”
Victoria looked at Conrad.
Something passed between them.
They had destroyed the body because it contained evidence.
I walked toward Victoria.
She stepped backward.
“You murdered him.”
Her face twisted.
“Do not make accusations you cannot prove.”
“You intercepted my mail.”
“You forged his signature.”
“You locked his mother in a cage.”
“And then you cremated him before anyone could question the cause of death.”
Conrad moved between us.
“Be careful, Captain.”
“Threatening the lawful owner of this estate may have consequences for your military career.”
I looked at him.
“My father taught me that men mention consequences when truth frightens them.”
A siren approached from the main road.
This time, an actual Harris County patrol car entered the gate.
A deputy stepped out.
His name was Owen Briggs.
I recognized him from my father’s charity events.
He greeted Conrad first.
Then Victoria.
He did not look at the cage.
He did not look at Grandma’s bruises.
“Captain Sterling,” he said.
“I have received a complaint that you assaulted Mason Vale and destroyed private property.”
May you like
I almost smiled.
The corruption had finally stopped hiding.
