THE HOUSE BENEATH OUR FEET: THE SHADOWS WE BUILT IN THE DARKNESS

“What do you mean, only the dead?” Mark asked, stepping closer to the exhausted old man while keeping a cautious eye on the dark hole behind him.

“Your grandfather didn’t just take the land, boy; he took the entire municipal treasury that the town council gave us to build the bridge,” Arthur wheezed, clutching his sunken chest as ragged breaths rattled in his throat.

“That’s a lie, the bridge funds were accounted for in the nineteen-forty-three audit reports,” Eleanor argued from the floor, her voice shaking as she tried to regain her professional dignity.

“The audit was forged... I helped him sign the false names before he pushed me down the fruit cellar stairs,” Arthur whispered, a twisted, tragic smile touching his cracked lips.

“If you helped him commit the fraud, why did he lock you down there instead of letting you go?” Mark asked, noticing the way the old man’s fingers twitched protectively over the leather-bound ledger in his lap.

“Because I kept the real receipts... right here in this iron box,” Arthur replied, tapping the cover of the book with a frail, yellowed fingernail.

“Give me that ledger, Arthur; if what you’re saying is true, the Sterling family name is completely ruined,” Eleanor said, crawling forward with a desperate, calculating look in her eyes.

“Ruined? Your whole foundation is built on stolen bones, woman,” Arthur snarled with sudden, startling venom, clutching the book tighter to his chest.

“We didn't know anything about this, we just bought the property at auction three months ago,” Mark defended them both, stepping between the old man and his wife.

“Ignorance is the mortar of this house, boy... and the walls are finally starting to crumble,” Arthur muttered, his head dropping back against the splintered floorboards as his eyes drifted shut.

“Arthur? Arthur, stay with us, don't pass out yet,” Mark urged, dropping to his knees and pressing two fingers against the old man's paper-thin wrist.