Chapter 8 - Fire on the Twenty-Second Floor
The fire started at 7:43 p.m.
My building’s security system alerted me first.
SMOKE DETECTED — UNIT 2208.
My condo.
I watched the notification on my phone while sitting inside a police safe house twenty-eight miles away.
Then came the second alert.
FRONT DOOR FORCED.
Detective Reed grabbed his jacket.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Claire—”
“That’s my home.”
“It may be a trap.”
“Then I’m staying in the car.”
He stared at me.
“You do exactly what I say.”
“Fine.”
We arrived twenty-five minutes later.
Fire engines blocked the street.
Residents stood outside in pajamas and coats.
Smoke poured from a window on the twenty-second floor.
My window.
I couldn’t breathe.
Everything I had built before Adrian was inside that condo.
My mother’s photographs.
My father’s watch.
My first business contract framed over my desk.
The stupid blue coffee mug I bought after landing my first major client.
A life.
Burning.
Then building security pulled Reed aside.
A guard showed him surveillance footage.
At 7:21 p.m., a woman wearing my coat entered the lobby.
She kept her head down.
Same height.
Same hair.
She used a key card registered to me.
At 7:34, she left through the parking garage.
At 7:43, the fire alarm activated.
“That wasn’t me,” I said.
The guard stared.
“I can see that.”
Reed asked, “Who has access to duplicate keys?”
“Residents. Building management.”
“My husband had one,” I said.
The guard checked the system.
“Mr. Mercer’s access was revoked this morning.”
“Who revoked it?”
“You did, electronically.”
I hadn’t.
Someone had logged into my resident account.
Reed’s expression hardened.
“Get your cyber team on this.”
Firefighters contained the blaze before it reached neighboring units.
An arson investigator emerged later carrying a small evidence bag.
Inside was part of a plastic bottle.
“Accelerant,” she said.
Reed asked, “Gasoline?”
“Likely.”
Then a firefighter walked toward us.
“We found a safe in the office.”
My heart jumped.
“Is it intact?”
“Mostly.”
Inside that safe were property deeds, tax records, jewelry, backup drives.
And one folder Adrian didn’t know existed.
A folder containing copies of every suspicious financial document I had noticed during our marriage.
Cash transfers.
Shell companies.
Payments from Charles to Adrian.
Transfers labeled CONSULTING that made no sense.
I had copied them months ago because something had felt wrong.
The firefighter lowered his voice.
“Someone tried to drill the safe before the fire.”
Reed looked at me.
“What was inside?”
“Evidence.”
“Of what?”
“I’m not completely sure.”
I swallowed.
“But Adrian and Charles have been moving money through companies that don’t appear to exist.”
Reed stared at the smoking building.
Then my phone rang.
Eleanor.
I answered.
“Claire.”
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
“I think you should come to the vineyard.”
“You burned my condo.”
“What an ugly accusation.”
“What do you want?”
“I want this madness to end.”
“Then tell police where Charles is.”
A long silence.
“He wants to speak with you.”
My blood chilled.
“Put him on.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because he isn’t with me.”
“Then how do you know?”
Another pause.
May you like
Then Eleanor whispered:
“Because he has Maya.”
