Chapter 8 - THE NIGHT THE LIGHTS WENT OUTI didn't walk toward the carriage house.
Instead, I stepped back into the driveway and called the property's security manager.
His name was Marcus Reed.
He had worked at Meadowgate for nine years and knew every gate, storage shed, electrical panel, and hidden service corridor on the property.
He answered on the second ring.
“Ms. Whitmore?”
“Marcus, is anyone supposed to be at the carriage house?”
There was a pause.
“No, ma'am. Why?”
“The lights just came on.”
“Where are you?”
“Near the rose garden.”
“Stay where you are. I'm contacting the security team.”
I looked toward the building.
A shadow moved behind one of the windows.
My heart pounded.
I called Eleanor.
She answered immediately.
“Ivy?”
“I think Claire or Derek may be here.”
“Don't confront them. Are you safe?”
“Yes. I'm outside.”
“Go to your car, lock the doors, and call the police if you believe someone is trespassing or threatening the property.”
I did exactly that.
For once, I didn't try to handle everything myself.
I sat in my Toyota while the security team approached from the main gate.
Two minutes later, Marcus called.
“Someone is inside the carriage house.”
“Who?”
“We haven't identified them.”
My hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“Is anything damaged?”
“We're checking. The police are on their way.”
Then the lights went out.
Not just in the carriage house.
Across the entire estate.
The mansion disappeared into darkness.
The illuminated gardens went black.
Even the driveway lamps flickered and died.
I stared through the windshield.
“Marcus?”
His voice became urgent.
“Stay in your vehicle.”
“What happened?”
“We may have a problem at the service panel.”
Before I could respond, a loud metallic crash echoed across the property.
Then another.
I saw a flashlight moving near the building.
A figure ran across the courtyard.
I couldn't tell who it was.
Security staff began shouting.
Moments later, the police arrived.
Blue lights flashed against the white stone walls.
I remained in my car until an officer approached.
“Ms. Whitmore?”
“Yes.”
“I'm Officer Jennings. We're securing the area. Can you tell me who has access to the carriage house?”
I listed the regular staff and explained the property dispute.
He took notes.
Then asked, “Has anyone threatened to damage the estate?”
I hesitated.
“My brother warned me about a conversation he overheard.”
“Can you contact him?”
“Yes.”
I called Andrew.
He answered, sounding frightened.
“Ivy?”
“The police are here. They need to know exactly what you heard.”
Andrew paused.
Then said, “I'll come.”
Within half an hour, officers had located two men near the rear service road.
One was Derek.
The other was an electrician who had previously done contract work at Meadowgate.
The officers separated them for questioning.
I stood near the driveway with Marcus while emergency lights illuminated the entrance.
He looked shaken.
“The main electrical disconnect was opened. Some wiring in the carriage house appears to have been tampered with.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“No.”
I exhaled.
Thank God.
Derek was led toward a patrol car.
He spotted me.
And smiled.
Not a friendly smile.
A furious one.
“This is your fault!” he shouted.
I said nothing.
“You think you're better than everyone!”
An officer directed him away.
I watched him go.
For years, Derek had treated me like a boring accountant with an unfortunate wardrobe.
At family dinners, he discussed investment strategies he barely understood.
He called my company a “little operation.”
Once, he'd asked whether I planned to get a real job.
Now he stood beside a police car while investigators documented what had happened at an estate he didn't own.
I felt no satisfaction.
Only exhaustion.
Andrew arrived shortly afterward with Melissa.
He looked pale.
When he saw me, he hurried over.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded.
He hugged me.
For a moment, I stood stiffly.
Then I hugged him back.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
I pulled away.
“You keep saying that.”
His eyes filled.
“I know.”
“Then do something different.”
He nodded.
“I will.”
And he did.
He sat with the officers and gave a formal statement about the conversation he'd overheard.
He explained what he knew about Claire's plans.
He provided messages Derek had sent him earlier that afternoon, asking whether the carriage house alarm system still used its original control panel.
The police collected the information.
Nobody made promises about the outcome.
But for the first time, someone in my family had chosen the truth over convenience.
By midnight, the estate was secure.
Marcus arranged emergency power for essential systems.
The damaged electrical equipment was isolated pending inspection.
I went home exhausted.
The next morning, Eleanor called.
“Derek was arrested after the police completed their initial investigation,” she said.
I sat on the edge of my bed.
“On what charges?”
“I'm waiting for the charging documents. We shouldn't assume anything beyond what's confirmed.”
I nodded.
“And Claire?”
“She hasn't been charged in connection with last night's incident. Investigators may want to speak with her.”
I stared at the wall.
“What about Dad?”
Eleanor paused.
“There is a more important development.”
My pulse quickened.
“The financial investigators obtained additional records from Whitmore Lifestyle Holdings.”
“And?”
“They've identified transfers into accounts controlled by your father.”
I closed my eyes.
“How much?”
“Several hundred thousand dollars. They're still tracing the funds.”
I pressed my forehead into my palm.
Eleanor continued.
“Ivy, I need you to prepare yourself. This is no longer simply an estate dispute.”
I understood.
“It's bigger.”
“Yes.”
After the call, I sat in silence.
Then my phone rang again.
Mom.
I almost ignored it.
But something made me answer.
Her voice sounded different.
Small.
Broken.
“Ivy?”
“What is it, Mom?”
She began crying.
“Your father's gone.”
My stomach dropped.
“What do you mean?”
“He packed a suitcase last night. He took some documents. He said he needed time to think.”
“Where did he go?”
“I don't know.”
I waited.
Then she whispered, “There's something I have to tell you.”
I closed my eyes.
“Mom, please. No more lies.”
She sobbed.
“I found a folder in his study.”
“What folder?”
“Bank statements. Old letters. Documents with your grandmother's name.”
I sat upright.
“And?”
Her next words were barely audible.
“Ivy, I think your father has been lying to all of us for much longer than I realized.”
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
May you like
Then she said:
“And I think I know where he went.”
