Chapter 970

“Sir, she just left the building."

Layne's voice was clipped. "Did she mention where she was going?"

Realizing she had failed to pry, Mrs. Shannon answered honestly, "No, Sir. She

didn't say."

"Understood," Layne replied, immediately ending the call.

He buried himself in paperwork until around four in the afternoon, when a breaking news alert flashed across his social media feed. A massive explosion had just gutted a luxury unit in his exact residential high-rise.

Seeing the thick black smoke billowing into the sky from the exact direction of his penthouse, Layne felt the blood freeze in his veins.

He grabbed his coat and bolted out of the boardroom, frantically dialing both Maeve and Mrs. Shannon as he sprinted toward the elevators.

Mrs. Shannon's phone went straight to voicemail. Maeve's phone was equally dead. Consumed by dread, Layne floored his car all the way back to the complex.

The blast had just occurred. By sheer luck, a fire brigade had already been dispatched to a minor alarm in the adjacent building, allowing them to respond instantly and extinguish the blaze before it spread. Mrs. Shannon had narrowly escaped with her life.

Seeing the older woman alive and breathing, a massive weight lifted off Layne's chest, but his panic immediately shifted. "Where's Maeve? Is she okay?"

Mrs. Shannon was covered in soot and ash, coughing heavily from the smoke inhalation.

"Ms. Sterling is fine. She left this afternoon and never came back. She wasn't here when it blew."

Layne exhaled a shaky breath, some of the terror receding. He looked hard at the housekeeper.

"What the hell happened? How does a luxury kitchen just detonate?”

Mrs. Shannon trembled, tears

cutting tracks through the soot on her face. "have no idea. Ms. Sterling demanded I have a delicate herbal bisque ready for her return. I went to ignite the gas stove, and the

massive

e pile of flour left right beside

the burner combusted into a massive fireball. The sheer force of the shockwave threw me back into the hallway. I honestly don't know how I survived. If the firefighters hadn't already been on the block, I'd be dead."

The sheer terror in her voice was absolute. Layne processed her explanation, a

cold, sickening realization settling in his gut.

Why would loose flour be piled right

next to an open gas burner? Anyone with a shred of basic culinary knowledge knew that airborne flour over an open flame caused a catastrophic dust explosion.

Mrs. Shannon had run high-end kitchens for decades; it was mathematically impossible for her to make such a suicidal, amateur mistake. Both of them instantly realized who had set the trap.

Yet Layne's mind violently rejected the truth. How could the fragile, loving woman he worshipped orchestrate something so brutally sociopathic?

Mrs. Shannon was in her fifties. Her son had just gotten married. Trying to burn her alive was an act of unfathomable cruelty.

“We have hidden security cameras in the kitchen. If the blast didn't fry the hard drives, we'll be able to see exactly who piled the flour next to the burner."

He knew with absolute certainty that Mrs. Shannon wouldn't try to blow up the building she was standing in.

If they ruled her out by default, there was only one suspect left. There were only three people with access to that kitchen, and Layne had been at the office.

Mrs. Shannon furiously wiped her tears. "Si

won't let her intimidate me into quitting. After Mr. and Mrs. Everhart passed away... if Labandon you now, you'll truly be left all alonës in this world."