THE NIGHT WE BURIED THE PAST BENEATH THE FLOORBOARDS OF OAK STREET

Clara froze on the cold, soot-covered floor, her muscles screaming from exhaustion as she slowly turned her head toward the sound. Out of the shadows at the far end of the cellar, a narrow, hidden wooden staircase materialized from the brick wall—a passage she had never known existed during all her years managing the property.

At the top of the stairs stood a figure holding a heavy steel flashlight. It wasn't Arthur.

The beam of light swept down, illuminating the ruined server rack and finally landing squarely on Clara’s face. She squinted against the harsh glare, raising a soot-stained hand to shield her eyes.

"Who's there?" Clara called out, her voice raspy and choked from the smoke. She instinctively reached into the pocket of her green cardigan, her fingers brushing against the cold steel of the revolver, only to realize with a sinking feeling that she had dropped it somewhere in the grass during her chaotic sprint across the yard.

"Put your hands where I can see them, Clara," a calm, professional voice commanded. A man in a crisp federal dark suit descended the wooden steps, holding a badge out in front of him. Special Agent Vance—not Arthur, but an entirely different branch of the family tree that Clara had successfully managed to pretend didn't exist for over a decade.

Clara slowly raised her hands, letting her breath steady as she looked up at the federal agent. "You're late, Agent Vance. The fire department is already outside."

"The fire department was easy to redirect," the agent replied coldly, stepping off the bottom stair and looking around the destroyed underground vault with clinical detachment. "Arthur called us twenty minutes ago. He thought he could leverage the foundation's assets to secure his own immunity. He didn't realize we've been building a RICO case against him for five years."

Clara let out a bitter, exhausted laugh, dropping her hands back to the floor. "So Arthur played all of us. He wanted the server destroyed just as much as I did, to cover his own tracks."

"He thought he was clever," Agent Vance agreed, pulling a pair of heavy steel handcuffs from his belt. "Step away from the debris, Clara. You're coming with us."

Before the agent could close the distance, the heavy basement door at the top of the stairs burst open. Elena’s silhouette appeared against the bright afternoon light, breathless and wide-eyed, holding a heavy iron pipe she must have grabbed from the garden shed.

"Clara!" Elena shouted down into the cellar, her voice echoing off the damp brick walls. "Clara, answer me! If you don't come up right now, I'm coming down there with a baseball bat!"