Chapter 6 - FIRE IN THE WALLS
Julian grabbed the door handle.
It burned his palm.
“Back!”
Smoke thickened.
Rachel coughed.
Martha covered her mouth.
“The side window,” Julian said.
It overlooked a stone terrace ten feet below.
Julian grabbed a chair and smashed the glass.
Cold night air rushed in.
“Rachel first.”
“No,” Rachel said. “Martha.”
“Now.”
Julian helped Martha through.
Rachel followed.
Julian climbed last.
Behind them, flames raced across the library ceiling.
Someone had started the fire inside the walls.
They reached the lawn as alarms screamed.
Julian turned toward the mansion.
“My office.”
Martha grabbed him.
“No.”
“The backups are there.”
“You’ll die.”
Julian hesitated.
Then remembered.
He had uploaded the audio file to cloud storage earlier.
“Forget it.”
Fire engines arrived minutes later.
Half the west wing burned before crews contained the flames.
An investigator approached near midnight.
“This wasn’t electrical.”
Julian already knew.
“Accelerant?”
“Yes.”
“Multiple ignition points?”
The investigator looked surprised.
“How did you know?”
Julian glanced toward the road.
“Because someone wanted the house destroyed.”
Later, Julian sat inside an ambulance while a paramedic bandaged his palm.
Martha joined him.
“The key.”
Julian looked at her.
“Adrian took it before starting the fire.”
“How?”
Julian thought.
The library had been locked.
Only three people inside.
Him.
Martha.
Rachel.
He looked toward Rachel.
She sat fifty yards away talking with police.
Martha followed his gaze.
“No.”
Julian said nothing.
“Rachel would never.”
“She knew about the key.”
“She’s family.”
“She was kidnapped today.”
“She almost died.”
“Or she was pretending.”
Martha stared at him.
“That’s cruel.”
“So is being lied to for eighteen years.”
Martha looked hurt.
Julian softened slightly.
“I’m not accusing her.”
“You are.”
“I’m asking questions.”
They watched Rachel.
Then an officer approached holding an evidence bag.
“We found this near the east gate.”
Inside was the brass key.
Julian frowned.
“Adrian dropped it?”
“Maybe.”
The officer handed him another bag.
Inside was a photograph.
Old.
Charles Hale standing beside three men.
Victor Laurent.
Adrian Cole.
And Thomas Pierce.
Julian stared at Rachel’s dead husband.
On the back someone had written four words.
THEY ALL KNEW EACH OTHER.
Martha whispered:
“Thomas never told us.”
Rachel approached.
She saw the photograph.
Her face went white.
“Where did you get that?”
Julian looked at her.
“You recognize it?”
Rachel nodded slowly.
“Thomas kept a copy.”
“What were they doing?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said Thomas was just security.”
“He was.”
“Then why is he standing beside my father and the men who murdered him?”
Rachel backed away.
“I don’t know.”
“Rachel.”
“I said I don’t know.”
Her voice cracked.
Then she ran toward the ambulance and vomited.
Martha looked at Julian.
“She’s terrified.”
“So am I.”
Julian studied the photograph again.
There was a date printed in the corner.
June 4.
Two days before Charles Hale died.
The four men were standing in front of a cargo warehouse.
Julian enlarged the image with his phone.
Something was visible behind them.
A container number.
He searched the company database.
The result appeared.
Julian stopped breathing.
That container had never reached its destination.
It had disappeared the same night Charles died.
And according to the old manifest, the container had been carrying industrial generators.
But the insurance value was sixty-three million dollars.
Martha whispered:
“What could be worth that much?”
Julian looked at her.
“I don’t know.”
Rachel slowly returned.
Her face was gray.
Then she whispered:
“I do.”
Julian turned.
Rachel began crying.
“There weren’t generators inside.”
“What was there?”
She looked at the burning mansion.
“Cash.”
“How much?”
“Sixty million dollars.”
Julian stared.
“Where did it go?”
May you like
Rachel whispered:
“Your father stole it.”
