My childhood home was not a home anymore.
The fire that consumed it when I was ten had left only foundation and skeletal remains. Blackened timber. Crumbled brick. Memories turned to char. We arrived at three AM, headlights cutting through darkness, illuminating ruins that should have stayed buried.
"This is where you grew up?" Victoria asked, stepping carefully through debris.
"For ten years. Then someone burned it down. Marcus said it was an accident. Electrical fire." I moved toward what used to be the kitchen. "But he was lying. Someone tried to kill us. Tried to destroy whatever was hidden here."
"And failed," Albert added, thermal scanner in hand. "I am reading hollow spaces beneath the foundation. Large cavity. Maybe twenty feet by thirty. Your father's bunker."
Hammer found th
