Chapter 9 - The Fire and the Truth
The smoke was rising fast, a thick, black curtain that smelled of burning plastic and old wood. The alarms were screaming now—a deafening, continuous wail that filled the entire estate.
Mrs. Ashcroft took a step forward, the heavy iron poker raised. “You ruined everything, Ruby. We had a system. We had order. I kept the secret. I kept the boy quiet. We were safe.”
“You weren't safe!” Ruby shouted, her voice coughing as she pulled her apron over Ollie’s face to protect him from the smoke. “You were living in a tomb! You let a murderer guard your gates!”
Before Mrs. Ashcroft could swing the iron poker, the double doors of the nursery wing were kicked open.
A group of security guards—the ones who had remained loyal to Nathaniel rather than Victor—burst into the hallway, led by the guard who had watched Ollie earlier.
“Mrs. Ashcroft, drop the weapon!” the guard shouted, his pistol drawn. “The house is burning! We have to evacuate!”
Mrs. Ashcroft looked at the guards, then at Ruby, and finally at the smoke billowing from the nursery door. With a low, bitter cry, she dropped the poker and ran toward the back staircase, vanishing into the darkness of the burning mansion.
“Get the boy out!” Ruby screamed at the guards. “Nathaniel is still downstairs! Victor is down there!”
She handed Ollie to the lead guard. The boy didn't scream or fight this time. He looked at Ruby, his eyes wide, and held out his hand.
“I’ll find you, Ollie,” Ruby promised, her throat burning from the smoke. “I’m coming right behind you.”
She turned back toward the iron door, but before she could enter the smoke-filled passage, a figure stumbled out.
It was Nathaniel.
His white shirt was covered in blood and black soot, and his left arm hung uselessly at his side. He was holding Victor’s gun in his right hand. He looked exhausted, but his gray eyes were clear.
“He’s dead,” Nathaniel said, his voice flat. He looked at Ruby, then at the guard holding his son at the end of the hallway. “Is Oliver safe?”
“Yes,” Ruby gasped, her eyes watering from the fumes. “He’s safe. We have to go, Mr. Cross. The whole place is going up.”
They ran.
The grand staircase was already engulfed in flames, the ancient oil paintings curling into black ash as the fire climbed the walls. They descended through the service stairs, the heat pressing against their backs like a physical hand.
When they finally burst through the heavy front doors onto the wet lawn, the cold rain hit them like a blessing.
Ruby fell to her knees on the grass, coughing violently, her chest heaving as she drew in the fresh, wet air.
Beside her, the guard set Ollie down. The boy ran directly to her, throwing his small arms around her neck and burying his face in her shoulder. He was crying now—real, wet tears—and for the first time in two years, the sound of his weeping was the most beautiful thing Ruby had ever heard.
Nathaniel stood over them, looking back at his burning empire.
The great white-stone estate of Greenwich was lighting up the dark sky like a massive, tragic torch. The fire trucks were arriving, their red lights flashing against the wet trees, but everyone knew it was too late. The secrets of the Cross family were burning to ash, and with them, the shadow that had governed Halloway City for a generation.
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Nathaniel dropped the gun into the wet grass.
He didn't look like a billionaire anymore. He didn't look like an untouchable monster. He looked like a father who had just realized that the only thing of value he owned was the boy holding onto a broke cleaning girl in the rain.
