Chapter 9 - The North Wing
The snow was falling so thickly that Harris could barely see twenty feet past the Range Rover’s hood as they turned onto Willow Crest Road.
The heavy iron security gates of the estate were wide open, their electronic arms bent backward, swinging loosely in the freezing wind.
"Harris, stop here," Nora said, leaning forward between the front bucket seats.
"Miss Bellamy, Mr. Ellery told me to keep you away from—"
"Look at the tracks," Nora pointed through the swirling white.
Two sets of fresh tire ruts led up the long winding drive toward the main house. But near the stone gatehouse, a third vehicle—a black commercial van without markings—sat idling with its lights off.
Lily sat in the rear child seat, her small hands clutching Nora’s canvas tote bag. The purple headband was still in place behind her ears.
She tapped Nora’s shoulder.
When Nora turned, Lily didn't use sign language. She pointed toward the distant stone chimneys of the mansion, where a thick plume of black smoke was rising into the gray sky, mingling with the falling snow.
"Fi... er," Lily said, her voice shaking with the exertion of shaping the consonants. "No... rah. Fi... er."
Nora’s blood ran cold. "Elena. Vivian."
"Miss Bellamy, you stay in this vehicle," Harris said, reaching into the glove compartment and pulling out a heavy black service automatic. "I'm calling the state police."
"The repeaters are down, Harris! Your radio has been cycling through static for five miles!" Nora unbuckled her seatbelt. "They're burning the north wing. That's where Clara’s private study is. That’s where the physical paper audit was stored."
"You can't go in there!"
"I'm not leaving two women to die in a locked house," Nora said, her voice steel. She turned to Lily, taking the girl’s face between her palms.
*STAY WITH HARRIS,* Nora signed rapidly, reinforcing it with clear, firm speech. *LOCK THE DOORS. DO NOT MOVE. I COME BACK. PROMISE.*
Lily stared at her, tears freezing on her eyelashes, but she nodded once, fiercely, and crossed her little fingers over her heart—the sign for *PROMISE.*
Nora pushed open the heavy door of the SUV and stepped out into the howling gale.
The cold hit her like a physical wall, but she didn't stop. She ran low through the snowdrifts bordering the tree line, using the rhododendron bushes for cover as she approached the rear terrace.
The French doors leading into the conservatory had been smashed. Glass shards littered the flagstones, dusted with fresh powder.
Inside, the smell of accelerated petroleum was suffocating.
From the upper gallery of the north wing, the sharp crackle of burning pine and antique wallpaper echoed down the marble halls. The fire alarm was wailing—a high, piercing electronic shriek that bounced off the vaulted ceilings.
Nora sprinted through the conservatory into the service corridor.
On the kitchen floor, Elena was sitting propped against the industrial refrigerator, groaning, a dark welt swelling near her temple.
"Elena!" Nora dropped to her knees, checking the woman’s pulse.
"Miss... Miss Nora," Elena choked out, coughing through the drifting smoke. "They took Miss Vivian upstairs. Julian... he brought two men from the docks. They're looking for the safe behind Mrs. Clara’s portrait."
"Can you walk?"
"My ankle... twisted when they pushed me."
Nora hauled the older woman up, dragging her toward the rear exterior service door. "Get out to the gate. Harris is in the armored car with Lily. Tell him to ram the front doors if he doesn't hear from me in five minutes."
"Don't go up there, child!" Elena wheezed, clutching Nora’s arm. "Julian is out of his mind! He’s setting the draperies alight!"
"Get to Lily!" Nora shouted over the roar of the alarms.
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She shoved Elena out into the safety of the snowy courtyard, slammed the heavy metal service door shut to prevent a backdraft, and turned toward the burning grand staircase.
***
