Barnaby brought another one from Chloe’s bedroom last night, my husband David said, placing a heavy platinum signet ring onto the marble kitchen island.
The smoke alarm was deafening, a frantic shriek that cut through the calm evening. Black smoke billowed from the guesthouse garage, twisting into the darkening sky.
“Leo!” I screamed, my voice raw with panic.
I burst through the guesthouse door, a blast of hot air and acrid smoke hitting me. Flames were already spreading up a wooden workbench, licking at a shelf of old paint cans.
Leo was standing near the door, his face pale with shock, clutching his scout bag. Chloe stood a few feet away, her hands over her mouth, fake tears streaming down her face.
“Maya! He was playing with matches!” Chloe shrieked, pointing at Leo. “Oh, my beautiful guesthouse!”
My eyes snapped to Leo. He shook his head vigorously, his eyes wide. I knew he wouldn’t lie.
“Get out, Leo!” I yelled, pushing him towards the outside. “Now!”
He stumbled out, coughing, into the cool evening air. Neighbors, drawn by the alarm, were already starting to gather on their lawns, their faces a mixture of alarm and morbid curiosity. David was running across our lawn, phone already pressed to his ear.
I backed out of the guesthouse, my throat burning. The flames weren’t yet out of control, but the garage was filling fast with smoke.
“You tried to frame my son for arson!” I accused Chloe, my voice trembling with fury. “You set that fire!”
Chloe looked aghast, her hands still pressed to her cheeks. “Maya, you’re hysterical! I saw him! He had matches!”
“She’s lying!” Leo choked out, still coughing. “She had a lighter! She lit the rags!”
David reached us, his face white. “What’s going on? Chloe, are you okay? Maya, Leo, are you hurt?”
“Your friend just tried to burn down her guesthouse and blame our son!” I practically snarled.
Chloe began to sob, a performance for the gathering crowd. “It’s Maya, David. She’s completely lost it. She’s accusing me of arson!”
Julian Carver arrived then, followed by Evelyn Albright, their expressions grim.
“What is the meaning of this, Chloe?” Evelyn demanded, her gaze sweeping over the smoke. “A fire in Oakridge Estates?”
“It was Leo!” Chloe insisted, pointing at my son, tears still streaming down her face. “Playing with matches, like Maya said he was unstable, and he—”
My blood ran cold. She was using my supposed “instability” against me.
But then, a memory flashed through my mind. This morning, after the board meeting, as I walked back from Julian’s, I’d seen Chloe’s mail piled in her yard, ignored. She often left it there for days.
A flash of red. A stamp.
As David called the fire department, I walked over to Chloe’s mailbox, which stood on a decorative post near her driveway. It was overflowing. I reached in, my hand trembling, and pulled out a stack of envelopes.
Amongst them, a thick, official-looking envelope, emblazoned with a prominent red stamp.
“Final Notice of Foreclosure – Property Seizure Imminent,” it read in bold, black letters. Below that, “First New York Bank.” And a date, barely a week away.
My eyes darted to the next envelope. Another one, smaller, but also red-stamped. “Notice of Default – Seven Months Delinquent Mortgage Payment.”
Chloe had let her mortgage lapse for seven months. Seven months! Her financial life was a house of cards, on the verge of collapsing. The $480,000 embezzlement, the gambling debts Marcus wrote about—it was all real.
I strode back towards Chloe, the envelopes clutched in my hand. The fire department sirens were wailing in the distance, growing closer.
“This is why you tried to burn your guesthouse down, isn’t it, Chloe?” I stated, my voice cutting through her sobs. “You’re drowning in debt!”
I held up the foreclosure notice, its red stamp screaming its message. “First New York Bank is seizing your home, Chloe! Seven months of missed mortgage payments! The bank is coming for everything you own!”
Chloe’s sobs instantly ceased. Her eyes, wide and terrified, fixed on the red-stamped letter in my hand. The carefully constructed mask of victimhood shattered, revealing pure, unadulterated fear.
A collective gasp went through the assembled neighbors. Evelyn’s face went from concern to disgust. Julian Carver took a step back, a look of cold calculation replacing his usual stoicism.
The sirens howled, just around the corner. The flashing red lights began to illuminate the cul-de-sac. Chloe stood frozen, exposed, her financial ruin laid bare for all to see. The fire was no longer the main spectacle; her unraveling was.
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