Chapter 134 That's MY House on Fire?!
I could see the smoke billowing up before we even turned the corner, thick gray plumes rising against the clear blue sky.
A commotion near the front door caught my attention. Five children, none older than twelve, burst out of the mansion, coughing and crying. They were covered in soot, their faces streaked with tears as paramedics rushed to wrap them in blankets and check them for injuries.
"What the hell? I thought this place was empty," I said, turning to a man in a suit who appeared to be from the property management company. "Didn't you tell us nobody lived here?"
The man wiped sweat from his brow, looking as confused as I felt. "That's correct, Ms. North. This property has been vacant since it was purchased and renovated five years ago."
"Then where did these kids come from?" I gestured toward the crying children being tended to by paramedics.
The property manager sighed, running a hand through his hair. "The firefighters just told me these kids broke a window and got in. They were playing inside and apparently decided to light a fire."
"Inside someone's home?" I asked incredulously.
"Yes," he nodded. "Though the property has remained unoccupied, it's fully furnished with high-end pieces. The firefighters mentioned everything inside is top-tier—designer furniture, state-of-the-art appliances. The owner must be quite wealthy."
A firefighter with a captain's helmet approached the property manager, his face grim beneath a layer of soot. "Have you contacted the owner yet?" His voice carried an urgent tone.
The property manager looked increasingly uncomfortable. "We're trying, but they're not answering. We've called several times."
Just then, another man in a nicer suit hurried across the lawn, his dress shoes sinking slightly into the wet grass.
"I'm the property management director," he announced, extending his hand to the fire captain.
One of the staff members immediately approached him. "Sir, we can't reach the owner. What should we do?"
The director's face fell. "That's a problem. This particular homeowner never provided their real name. During the purchase and renovation, everything was handled by their butler."
The employee pulled out a clipboard, pointing at a form. "After the renovation was complete, the butler only left this phone number as contact."
The firefighter cut in, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Well, keep trying. The house is half-destroyed, and we need the owner's consent for certain procedures." He turned away, barking orders to his team. "We're going in for another sweep!"
The property director took the clipboard, staring at the number with frustration. "I'll try calling myself. What's the number?" He pulled out his phone.
"212-555..." the employee began reciting.
I wasn't really paying attention until I noticed Alexander, Jackson, Megan, and Jasmine all suddenly stiffening beside me, exchanging troubled glances as the numbers continued.
Gabriel leaned toward Jasmine, noticing her reaction. "What's wrong?"
Jasmine raised her hand, interrupting the property director. "Excuse me, could you repeat that phone number?"
The director, sensing a potential lead, immediately read the number out loud again.
I felt everyone's eyes shift to me. My brain took a second to process what was happening, but when it did, I felt like someone had dumped ice water down my spine.
"Wait," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Are you absolutely sure that's the owner's contact number?"
The property director nodded firmly. "Yes, Ms. North."
I pulled my phone from my pocket and noticed seventeen missed calls, all from the property management company. "I... I had my phone on silent," I stammered, feeling suddenly disoriented.
My fingers trembled slightly as I called my father.
"Why are you asking about the house now? Did you and Alexander split up? Are you moving out?" he asked.
I felt a surge of irritation. "We literally just got married! What divorce are you talking about?!"
"Oh, thank God," Warren sighed with audible relief. "You scared me."
"Dad, which house are we talking about exactly?" I pressed, needing confirmation.
"The one in your neighborhood. 222 on Riverside Drive, right next to where you and Alexander live."
My eyes slowly drifted to the number mounted beside the burning mansion's gate: 222.
"Dad, I need to call you back." I hung up and turned to the group, who were all staring at the house in varying degrees of disbelief.
"So," I said slowly, trying to process it all, "the mansion I didn't know I owned just burned down before I ever got to live in it?"
The property director stepped forward, profuse apologies spilling from his lips. "Ms. North, I am terribly sorry. This is clearly a failure on our part. These children broke in and we've contacted their parents. They should be arriving shortly."
I was about to respond when a sleek Mercedes S-Class screeched to a halt outside the police line. A woman in her forties leapt out and rushed toward the children.
"Tommy! Tommy!" she cried, grabbing one of the boys and checking him frantically for injuries. "Are you hurt?"
The boy, who had been sitting quietly until then, burst into tears at the sight of her. "Zoe!"
The woman turned on the property director with fury in her eyes. "Who let this happen? Who owns this place?"
Before he could answer, she continued her tirade. "If my child was harmed in any way, I'll sue whoever owns this death trap! How could they leave a house where children could break in? What kind of irresponsible person—"
"Excuse me," I interrupted, my voice cutting through her rant.
The woman paused, taking in my designer outfit and the group of well-dressed people behind me. Her tone softened slightly. "And who are you?"
"I'm the owner of this house," I said evenly.
Her eyes widened, but instead of apologizing, she doubled down. "Well, your negligence put my son in danger! I'll be speaking to my lawyers about this!"
I felt my temper rising. "Let me get this straight. Your son broke into my house, vandalized it, and set it on fire—and you're threatening to sue me?"
The woman's face hardened. "You have no proof my Tommy started any fire! I'll sue you for defamation too!"
"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" I said, genuinely astonished by her audacity.
The woman smirked, looking me up and down. "What's wrong? Can't hear properly?"
I rolled up my sleeves, fury coursing through me. "Say that again. I dare you."
Everyone around us tensed.
"Emma!"
"Emma!"
---
The cold metal of handcuffs bit into my wrists as I sat alone in the stark interrogation room. The door opened, and Detective Jeff Sullivan walked in, carrying a coffee.
"Ms. North," he sighed, pulling out the chair across from me, "back so soon?"
I yanked at the cuffs restraining me to the chair. "Jeff, why the hell am I cuffed? I'm the victim here! My house burned down!"
Jeff took a long sip of his coffee before responding. "Your husband is watching the security footage in my office right now." He gestured vaguely toward the door. "The cuffs were his idea."
"What?" I felt like I'd been slapped. "Alexander told you to cuff me? Why?"
Jeff leaned forward, his expression a mixture of amusement and resignation. "Because—"