Chapter 3 - The Fire House LedgerI stood in the center of my darkened bedroom, staring at the glowing screen of my phone.

Who locked the door?

For twelve years, I had believed the pool house door had simply jammed from the heat of the fire. That was what my father had told the insurance investigators. That was what the fire chief had written in his official report.

A quiet knock sounded at my door. My father stepped inside, his shoulders slouched, looking older than his forty-six years.

“Maya,” he whispered, his voice trembling with remorse. “I am so sorry. I should have stopped her years ago. I thought... I thought keeping the peace would heal our family.”

I held up my phone, showing him the dark text message.

My father’s face went completely, terrifyingly drain of color. He stepped back against the doorframe, his breath catching in his throat.

“Dad,” I said, my voice cold as ice. “The fire wasn't an accident, was it?”

My father closed his eyes, a tear cutting through the dust on his cheek. He walked over to my desk, unlocked the bottom drawer with a small brass key he carried on his chain, and pulled out an old, fire-singed leather binder.

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“Your grandfather’s estate was worth thirty million dollars, Maya,” my father confessed softly. “Under his original will, the entire inheritance was set to pass to your mother, Evelyn. But when Evelyn died when you were five, your stepmother, Victoria—Chloe’s mother—realized that if something happened to you, the entire estate would default to Chloe.”

My blood ran cold. “Victoria locked us inside?”