Myy Sister-in-Law Mocked Me as "Cheap Trash" and "Nothing but Dead Weight." Then, in the Middle of Her Wedding Reception, She Claimed Her Million-Dollar Diamond Ring Had Been Stolen—and Ordered Everyone to Search Me.1

The heavy iron gates of St. Agnes groaned loudly in the wind as Richard pushed them open. The hinges were completely rusted, fighting him every inch of the way. Detective Laura Bennett walked up beside him, her police-issued flashlight cutting through the dense fog and illuminating the destroyed courtyard.

"My team is securing the perimeter," Laura announced, her voice tight with professional tension. "But this place is a death trap. I want everyone stepping exactly where I step. Understood?"

"Understood," Samuel replied, unbuttoning his coat to allow easy access to the firearm holstered at his hip.

Vivienne walked slowly toward the massive, arched wooden double doors of the main entrance. Only one of the doors remained standing; the other had collapsed inward, reduced to a pile of charred timber and shattered stained glass.

"The main floor collapsed into the basement during the fire," Richard warned, shining his beam over the massive crater in the center of the grand foyer. "We need to find a secondary stairwell that survived the structural damage."

Vivienne closed her eyes, trying to force the hazy, fragmented memories in her mind to coalesce. She remembered the smell of antiseptic, the sound of a heavy brass bell ringing, and a woman with warm hands guiding her down a dark, narrow corridor.

"Not the main stairs," Vivienne said suddenly, opening her eyes. "There was a servant's stairwell in the back. Near the kitchens. It was made of solid stone, not wood. It wouldn't have burned."

Richard looked at her, surprised. "Are you sure?"

"I'm trusting the instinct," Vivienne replied, stepping carefully over a fallen ceiling beam.

They navigated the treacherous ruins of the first floor, moving in a tight formation. The smell of old ash and damp rot was overpowering. As they approached what used to be the industrial kitchen, Laura’s flashlight beam caught the edge of a narrow, stone archway partially hidden behind a collapsed ventilation hood.

"She’s right," Laura said in awe. "Stone steps. Leading down."

Samuel moved to the front, pointing his flashlight into the suffocating darkness of the stairwell. "It’s flooded at the bottom. The water looks about ankle-deep."

"We keep moving," Vivienne insisted, pushing past him.

She descended the slippery stone stairs, the rusted key burning like a hot coal in her pocket. The basement air was freezing and completely stagnant. Their boots splashed loudly into the murky water that covered the stone floor.

The basement was a labyrinth of heavy steel doors, most of them warped and destroyed by the intense heat of the fire above.

Vivienne walked purposefully down the long, flooded corridor until she reached a door at the very end. Unlike the others, this door was immaculate. It wasn't burned. It wasn't warped. It was made of solid, reinforced iron, and right in the center was a heavy brass padlock.