Chapter 19 - The Fire Beneath the Floor
Ardan sat in the driver's seat, the silence inside the car absolute and deafening.
Every instinct she had possessed about her allies and enemies had been systematically inverted.
Crispen, the traitorous, parasitic husband, had indeed been an opportunist, but he had been hunting a predator far more dangerous than himself.
And Dorothea, the maternal, fierce guardian who had held Ardan’s hand at Eleanor’s funeral, was the spider at the center of the web.
"Why are you telling me this, Cynthia?" Ardan asked, looking through the glass at her husband's former mistress.
"What do you have to gain by warning me?"
"I want the flash drive back," Cynthia said bluntly.
"Crispen hid the master backup key in the grandfather clock in the main parlor."
"It contains the cryptographic keys to the Cayman accounts."
"If Dorothea gets that drive, she wipes the servers, and Sterling takes the money."
"If I get it, I can hand it to the actual Federal Bureau of Investigation in Boston."
"They will grant me immunity, and they will indict Dorothea and Sterling for extortion, wire fraud, and obstruction of justice."
"Without that drive, we are all dead or in federal prison by morning."
Ardan looked from Cynthia toward the dark silhouette of Birchwood Lane.
The great house stood against the twilight, grand, majestic, and rotting with thirty years of calculated deceit.
"Get in the car," Ardan commanded, unlocking the passenger door.
Cynthia didn't hesitate.
She ran around the hood of the Volvo, climbed into the front seat, and slammed the door shut.
"Did you bring a weapon?" Ardan asked, shifting the car into drive.
"I have a licensed Glock nineteen in my handbag," Cynthia said, pulling a compact black handgun from her purse.
"Can you use it?"
"I grew up on a farm in New Hampshire, Ardan," Cynthia said grimly.
"I know how to put down a mad dog."
Ardan turned the Volvo around on the gravel, driving directly back toward the grand portico of Birchwood Lane.
As they reached the front circular drive, Ardan noticed something that sent a bolt of adrenaline straight through her heart.
The interior lights of the carriage house were blazing.
Thin, pale blue wisps of smoke were beginning to seep from the lower workshop vents.
Someone was already inside.
"They're early," Cynthia gasped, pointing toward the carriage house door.
"Sterling isn't waiting for sunset."
"He's starting the burn right now."
Ardan killed the car’s headlights and pulled the vehicle behind the dense grove of rhododendrons.
"The master key in the clock," Ardan said, turning to Cynthia.
"Go through the front door, get the flash drive from the pendulum housing, and lock yourself in the wine cellar."
"What are you going to do?" Cynthia asked, her eyes wide with apprehension.
May you like
Ardan reached into the glove compartment and pulled out her mother's heavy brass-headed walking stick, which she had kept in the car for years.
"I'm going to finish the conversation my mother started thirty years ago."
