Chapter 2 - The Basement DoorBy sunrise, Mercer Lofts looked like a skeleton.
The fire had started low in the building and traveled upward through an old utility shaft before firefighters contained it.
No one died.
That was the only fact that mattered at first.
Three residents suffered smoke inhalation. One firefighter injured his shoulder. Everyone else escaped.
I sat in Sarah’s office at six-thirty that morning watching live footage from a local news helicopter.
Black windows.
Water pouring from broken glass.
Smoke drifting across the roof.
My apartment was somewhere behind those walls.
Or what remained of it.
Sarah placed coffee beside me.
“You’re allowed to be upset.”
“I am upset.”
“You look like you’re auditing someone.”
“That’s how I look when I’m upset.”
She almost smiled.
Then her phone rang.
Her expression changed while she listened.
“Thank you. Don’t touch anything. Email photographs only.”
She hung up.
“The investigator found the gray-jacket man.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
I hadn’t realized how tightly I was holding my coffee until then.
“Who is he?”
“Name is Victor Hale. Licensed electrician until three years ago. License suspended after two code violations and an insurance investigation.”
“Insurance fraud?”
“Never charged.”
“But investigated.”
“Yes.”
Sarah slid a printed report across the table.
Victor Hale had worked for four contractors during the previous decade.
Two had gone bankrupt after major fires.
Another had collected a large insurance settlement after a warehouse electrical failure.
The fourth company?
Harrison Development Group.
Ryan’s business.
I read the page twice.
“How long did he work for Ryan?”
“Six months officially. Possibly longer as an independent contractor.”
My phone rang.
RYAN.
Sarah shook her head.
“Don’t.”
I let it ring.
Thirty seconds later, a text appeared.
WHERE ARE YOU?
Then:
DAD SAID YOU WEREN’T HOME.
Then:
CALL ME NOW.
I turned the phone over.
Sarah watched me.
“He’s scared.”
“No. Ryan gets angry when he’s scared.”
“How do you know?”
“I grew up with him.”
At eight-fifteen, Detective Marcus Reed from the city fire investigation unit called.
He asked whether I could meet.
Sarah insisted on joining me.
We met at a temporary command trailer across from Mercer Lofts.
Ryan was already there.
So was Dad.
When I stepped from Sarah’s car, Ryan’s face changed.
Relief first.
Then confusion.
Then anger.
“You’re alive.”
I stopped.
Interesting choice of words.
Dad hurried toward me.
“Emily.”
He attempted to hug me.
I stepped aside.
His arms fell awkwardly.
Ryan stared.
“Where were you?”
“Hotel.”
“Why?”
“Work.”
“You moved your stuff?”
“Some.”
“What stuff?”
Same question.
Exactly.
Detective Reed opened the trailer door.
“Ms. Harrison?”
“Yes.”
“Inside, please.”
Ryan moved forward.
“I’m her brother.”
“I’ll speak with everyone separately.”
Ryan didn’t like that.
Neither did Dad.
Inside, Reed introduced himself and an investigator named Carla Mendes.
Mendes asked the questions.
When had I last been home?
Who had access?
Did I know anyone who might want to damage the property?
Had I received threats?
I answered carefully.
Then I told them about Ryan entering the basement.
Mendes’s pen stopped.
“When?”
I gave her the date.
“And your father said he was checking a leak?”
“Yes.”
“Was there a leak?”
“No.”
I handed her copies of the building manager’s correspondence.
Then I showed her Victor Hale’s photograph.
Sarah explained how we obtained it.
Mendes’s expression became unreadable.
“You understand we’ll independently verify all this.”
“I expect you to.”
Reed leaned forward.
“Ms. Harrison, there’s something else.”
He exchanged a look with Mendes.
“The preliminary burn pattern suggests the fire may have originated near the electrical distribution area.”
My stomach tightened.
“The basement.”
“Yes.”
“Accidental?”
“Too early.”
“Could someone make an electrical fire look accidental?”
Sarah touched my arm gently.
Reed answered carefully.
“It’s possible.”
After the interview, we left through a side door.
Dad was waiting outside.
“Emily, we need to talk.”
“Not today.”
“I’m your father.”
“And?”
His face tightened.
“I don’t like what you’re implying.”
“I haven’t implied anything.”
“You gave police Ryan’s name.”
“So?”
“He was helping with maintenance.”
“The building manager never authorized him.”
“He’s family.”
“That doesn’t give him access to private property.”
Ryan approached behind Dad.
“You seriously think I burned your apartment?”
I turned.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Then why are you worried?”
His face went red.
Sarah stepped between us verbally, not physically.
“Ryan, I recommend you speak through counsel if investigators contact you.”
He laughed.
“Oh, she has a lawyer now.”
“I’ve had a lawyer for years.”
Dad looked at Sarah, then me.
“What exactly are you doing?”
“Protecting myself.”
“From your family?”
“Yes.”
That word hit him harder than I expected.
For one second, Dad looked old.
Then Ryan said, “This is insane.”
I turned to leave.
He grabbed my wrist.
Not hard.
But enough.
Sarah immediately said, “Let go.”
He did.
People nearby were watching.
Ryan lowered his voice.
“You have no idea what you’re messing with.”
I looked at him.
“You’re right.”
His expression softened slightly.
Then I finished.
“That’s why I documented everything before I started.”
His face emptied.
Sarah and I walked away.
We had reached the car when Detective Mendes called my name.
She jogged toward us carrying a clear evidence bag.
Inside was a piece of melted black plastic.
“What is that?” I asked.
“We found it behind a utility cabinet in the basement.”
She held it closer.
A metal fragment was visible inside.
A tiny memory card.
Partially protected by the melted casing.
“Building security recorder?” Sarah asked.
“Maybe.”
Mendes looked at me.
“But according to the property manager, the official basement camera system was disconnected three days ago.”
I stared at the evidence bag.
“Then what camera is this from?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
My chest tightened.
Because suddenly I remembered something.
Six months earlier, after packages had been stolen, I had installed a small battery-powered backup camera near my storage cage.
I had forgotten about it.
Almost.
The device uploaded footage to an encrypted cloud account whenever it detected motion.
I pulled out my phone.
Sarah saw my face.
“What?”
“There was another camera.”
We drove straight to her office.
I opened the account.
The last upload was timestamped 1:31 a.m.
The thumbnail appeared slowly.
A man stood in the basement.
Gray jacket.
Victor Hale.
He was holding something beside the electrical panel.
But he wasn’t alone.
Someone else stood partly outside the frame.
Only one arm was visible.
A white shirt.
Gold cuff link.
And a watch.
I knew that watch.
May you like
I had bought it as a retirement gift three years earlier.
For my father.
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