Chapter 9 - Ashes and EmbersDawn broke over the Westchester estate like a slow-moving fire, casting long, golden shadows across the manicured lawns and iron gates. We didn't wait for the federal marshals or the corporate liquidators. By seven o'clock in the morning, Roman had arranged for an industrial demolition crew to arrive at the gates with heavy machinery and high-grade incendiary charges.
Grant was long gone—transferred quietly in the middle of the night to a high-security federal holding facility on an undisclosed island, stripped of his fortune, his name, and his influence.
Standing on the front lawn with a cup of black coffee in my hand, I watched the crew rig the structural columns of the sprawling mansion with detonator cords. This house had never been a home; it was a mausoleum built on family secrets, corporate extortion, and inherited violence.
Roman walked up beside me, handing me a small, heavy black detonator box with a single red switch.
"Are you sure?" Roman asked, his dark eyes searching my face. "Once you flip that switch, there's no going back to the past."
I looked at the grand double doors where my father had ruled, where Grant had tormented me, and where I had walked in three days ago wearing a corset stiff enough to keep my body from breaking.
"The past was never mine," I said.
I wrapped my fingers around the red switch, felt the cool plastic beneath my palm, and pushed it down with all my weight.
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A fraction of a second later, a deep, concussive roar shook the earth beneath our feet. The central columns of the mansion splintered outward in a glorious cloud of gray dust, shattered glass, and roaring orange flames. The roof caved inward, swallowing the dark rooms, the locked basements, and every ghost that had ever haunted my family name in a raging inferno of purification.
Roman wrapped his arm tightly around my waist, pulling me close as the heat washed over our faces. The smoke rose high into the autumn sky, mixing with the clouds over New York Harbor.
