Chapter 10 - The Man Who Carried the MatchThe man caught in the basement passage was named Owen Pike.
Thirty-four.
Temporary catering worker.
Two prior arrests.
Three unpaid debts.
And one terrible habit of believing rich people kept promises.
Detective Ellison questioned him at the station while Enzo, Marisol, Adeline, and Lucia waited in a separate observation room.
Adeline had never been inside a police observation room before.
It was colder than she expected.
Smaller too.
On the other side of the glass, Owen Pike sat hunched in a chair, his hands wrapped around a paper cup of water. He looked less like a criminal mastermind and more like a man who had realized too late that desperation made a poor business partner.
Detective Ellison placed a photograph on the table.
“Who hired you?”
Owen stared at the photo.
Camilla Ashford looked back from it in perfect lighting.
“I want a deal.”
“You want a lot for a man caught carrying accelerant through a private home.”
“I didn’t start the fire.”
Ellison raised an eyebrow.
“You were holding a can.”
“I was supposed to scare them.”
“By burning the east wing?”
“No. I was told the sprinklers would kick in fast. I was supposed to create smoke, panic, get people out.”
“Why?”
Owen rubbed both hands over his face.
“To grab a box.”
Adeline’s stomach tightened.
Ellison leaned forward.
“What box?”
“I don’t know. Old papers. Green books. Something from the attic.”
Lucia whispered, “Sofia’s journals.”
Enzo’s jaw clenched.
Ellison asked, “Who told you about the attic?”
Owen hesitated.
Marisol murmured, “Come on.”
Owen looked toward the mirror.
“Is she watching?”
Ellison did not answer.
He swallowed.
“Her mother scares me more than prison.”
The room went silent.
Ellison’s voice softened.
“Beatrice Ashford?”
Owen closed his eyes.
“She arranged it. But Camilla called me.”
Adeline felt the air change.
There it was.
A thread connecting mother and daughter.
Ellison placed another photo down.
This one of Beatrice.
“Tell me everything.”
Owen did.
Not cleanly.
Not bravely.
But enough.
He had worked private events for the Ashfords before. He knew how to enter service corridors without attracting attention. Two days before the engagement party, a woman from Beatrice’s office contacted him. Cash upfront. More after.
At first, the job was simple.
Watch the staff.
Identify the new maid.
Find out whether she went near Lucia Marchetti.
Then, after the party collapsed, the job changed.
A call at 3:51 a.m.
Camilla herself.
“She was crying,” Owen said. “Or pretending. I don’t know. She said Enzo found old journals. She said if those journals left the house, her mother would ruin me.”
Ellison asked, “How would Camilla know Enzo found journals?”
Owen shook his head.
“She said someone inside told her.”
Everyone in the observation room turned toward Enzo.
Inside Belladonna House, even after the guests left, someone had been watching.
Enzo’s face revealed nothing.
That made it worse.
Ellison asked Owen, “Who inside?”
“I don’t know.”
“Name.”
“I swear, I don’t.”
“You entered through the basement passage. Who told you about it?”
Owen looked miserable.
“A woman.”
“What woman?”
“Older. Staff. She met me outside the east service gate.”
Adeline’s breath caught.
Enzo looked at her.
“What?”
Adeline whispered, “Mrs. Vale.”
Lucia frowned.
“Agnes Vale?”
Adeline nodded slowly.
“The senior housekeeper.”
Enzo’s voice went cold.
“She has worked here twenty-two years.”
Adeline looked sick.
“She was kind to me.”
Enzo turned away.
Betrayal in a house like Belladonna did not arrive as a stranger.
It wore a familiar uniform.
Back in the interview room, Owen continued.
“She gave me the key. Told me the east attic had what they needed. Told me to create smoke near the stairwell. Said everyone would blame old wiring.”
Ellison wrote.
“Where is Agnes Vale now?”
Enzo answered from the observation room before anyone could ask him.
“Find her.”
His security chief moved immediately.
Adeline looked at Lucia.
The old woman’s face had gone gray.
“Twenty-two years,” Lucia whispered.
Marisol said quietly, “Long enough to know every secret.”
Thirty minutes later, Enzo’s security found Agnes Vale’s room empty.
Her uniforms gone.
Her savings withdrawn.
Her phone abandoned in a drawer.
On her desk was a single envelope addressed to Lucia Marchetti.
Lucia opened it with shaking hands.
Inside was a note.
I am sorry. They knew about my son.
Lucia sat down hard.
Adeline covered her mouth.
Enzo took the note.
“What son?”
Lucia’s eyes filled.
“Agnes’s son has been in a care facility for years. Private. Expensive. She never spoke of it.”
Marisol’s face softened.
“Beatrice paid?”
Lucia nodded.
“Or threatened to stop paying.”
Enzo crushed the note in his fist.
Adeline understood the shape of it now.
The Ashfords did not simply buy loyalty.
They found pain.
Then pressed until people obeyed.
By noon, the city had three scandals instead of one.
The hallway assault.
The poisoned glass.
The fire at Belladonna House.
News vans camped outside the gates. Online comments multiplied by the thousands. Camilla’s supporters called her framed. Enzo’s enemies called him dangerous. Ordinary people called Adeline brave.
Adeline did not feel brave.
She felt hunted.
At two in the afternoon, Detective Ellison returned to Belladonna House with a warrant for Agnes Vale’s room and phone records.
Adeline stood in the doorway as officers searched.
The room was plain.
Too plain for someone who had spent twenty-two years caring for luxury.
A narrow bed.
A crucifix.
A framed photograph of a young man in a wheelchair.
A drawer full of birthday cards.
Adeline picked one up.
To Mom, thank you for not giving up.
Her eyes filled.
Enzo stood behind her.
“Don’t.”
She turned.
“What?”
“Don’t make excuses for her.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re holding sympathy like it erases betrayal.”
Adeline looked at the card.
“No. I’m holding sympathy because without it, people like Beatrice win twice.”
Enzo said nothing.
“She used Agnes’s love for her son,” Adeline continued. “That doesn’t make what Agnes did right. But it tells us where Beatrice keeps the knife.”
Enzo studied her.
“You see too much.”
“I’m a maid.”
“You’re not.”
“I was.”
“No,” he said softly. “You were always a witness. They just made you carry trays so no one noticed.”
Adeline looked away.
His words frightened her more than insults did.
Because insults were easy to reject.
Respect was harder.
Respect asked you to become someone.
An officer called from the closet.
“Detective.”
They found a second phone hidden in a shoebox.
Marisol checked the screen with permission.
There were messages.
Some deleted.
Some recoverable.
One thread had no name.
Only initials.
B.A.
Beatrice Ashford.
Another thread used a private number.
Camilla.
The final message from Camilla had been sent at 3:48 a.m.
Get the green journals before sunrise. If Enzo reads them, everything is over.
Detective Ellison photographed it.
Enzo stared at the words.
Adeline looked at him.
Everything.
Not something.
Everything.
The journals held more than history.
They held the end of the Ashfords.
That evening, Marisol gathered everyone in the study.
The saved journals lay on the desk.
Four had survived.
The fifth was missing.
Adeline noticed first.
“There were five.”
Enzo looked up.
“What?”
“In the trunk. Five green journals. Marisol carried four.”
Marisol went pale.
“I thought—”
Lucia’s hand flew to her mouth.
The room fell silent.
Enzo’s voice was careful.
“Which one is missing?”
Adeline closed her eyes, remembering the stack.
The burned smell.
The smoke.
The titles embossed inside.
“One had a ribbon,” she said. “Black ribbon.”
Lucia whispered, “The final journal.”
“What was in it?” Enzo asked.
Lucia looked at the fireplace.
“The week Sofia died.”
No one spoke.
Then Enzo’s phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
He answered without saying hello.
A woman’s voice came through.
Smooth.
Cold.
Beatrice Ashford.
“Enzo,” she said, “I believe we both lost something in the fire.”
His eyes darkened.
“Where is the journal?”
Beatrice laughed softly.
“Not everything belongs to the dead.”
Adeline stepped closer, listening.
Beatrice continued.
“Bring me Helen Croft’s files. All of them. Or I release Sofia’s final words in a way your family will never survive.”
Enzo’s voice was quiet.
“Threatening me is a mistake.”
“No,” Beatrice said. “Loving the truth is.”
The call ended.
Adeline looked at Enzo.
For the first time since she met him, she saw fear in his face.
Not for himself.
For his mother.
For what the Ashfords could do to a dead woman who could no longer defend herself.
Adeline touched the photograph on the desk.
Then she said the sentence that changed everything.
“My mother would have made a copy.”
Everyone turned.
May you like
Adeline looked at Enzo.
“Helen Croft never trusted first answers.”
Related Stories
