Chapter 10 - The Fire Before My Marriage
I thought I knew my parents’ story.
They met at a county fair.
Dad fixed tractors.
Mom worked at a bakery.
They bought a small house.
Raised two children.
Paid bills.
Went to church.
Lived quietly.
I had never known there was a fire.
Dad stared at his hands.
“Harrington Equipment wasn’t called that anymore by the time you met Preston.”
“What happened?”
“Charles sold it. Rolled everything into another company.”
“Why were you blamed?”
“I was working late.”
“Did you start the fire?”
“No.”
“Were you charged?”
“No. Investigators called it electrical.”
“Then how were you blamed?”
“Rumors.”
Mom sat beside him.
“Charles told people Samuel had been angry about layoffs.”
Dad laughed bitterly.
“I wasn’t even laid off.”
“Why didn’t you fight it?”
“Fight what? A rich man telling people a mechanic was bitter?”
He looked at me.
“I had a wife and a two-year-old son. I needed work.”
Adrian had been two.
I was not born yet.
“Marisol?”
“Gone.”
“Gone how?”
“She moved.”
“Where?”
“No idea.”
Naomi searched public databases.
Marisol Vega.
Several results.
None matched.
Adrian asked, “Did she have family?”
Dad thought.
“A sister. Teresa.”
“Last name?”
“Same.”
Within forty minutes, Adrian’s team located a Teresa Vega living in Arizona.
Seventy-one years old.
Naomi contacted her attorney-to-attorney through a local colleague.
By the next morning, Teresa agreed to speak.
Video call.
She appeared on screen wearing glasses and sitting beside a sunny kitchen window.
When Dad introduced himself, she covered her mouth.
“Samuel?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God.”
Dad looked shaken too.
“You remember me?”
“Marisol talked about you.”
My pulse quickened.
“Where is she?” Dad asked.
Teresa’s face fell.
“My sister died eight years ago.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“What is this about?”
Naomi explained carefully.
The notarized document.
The Harrington family.
The date.
Teresa became very still.
“That wasn’t my sister.”
“What?”
“Marisol stopped notarizing anything after 1999.”
“Why?”
“She gave up her commission.”
Naomi leaned closer.
“You’re sure?”
“I helped her file the paperwork.”
“Did she ever work for Charles Harrington again?”
“No.”
“Did she know him?”
Teresa laughed bitterly.
“She was terrified of him.”
I felt cold.
“Why?”
Teresa looked at Dad.
“Samuel, she always believed the fire wasn’t an accident.”
Dad’s jaw tightened.
“What did she tell you?”
“That she copied the payroll records before reporting them.”
Adrian leaned in.
“Did she keep them?”
“Yes.”
Everyone froze.
“Where?” Naomi asked.
“She mailed them to herself.”
“What?”
“Certified mail. She thought if something happened at work, there would be a record outside the building.”
My heart hammered.
“Do you still have them?”
Teresa shook her head.
“No.”
Hope collapsed.
Then she added:
“But I know who does.”
We all stared.
“Marisol gave the package to someone before she moved.”
“Who?”
“A reporter.”
Naomi asked, “Name?”
“Elliot Brand.”
Adrian immediately searched.
Former investigative reporter.
Retired.
Living in Vermont.
Alive.
We contacted him that afternoon.
His answer was immediate.
“Yes, I remember Marisol Vega.”
My father gripped the edge of the table.
“Did she give you payroll records?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still have them?”
Elliot leaned back.
“I have everything.”
Nobody breathed.
“Why didn’t you publish?”
“I tried.”
“What happened?”
“My editor killed the story.”
“Why?”
“Pressure.”
“From Charles?”
“I never proved that.”
He paused.
“But two days after I told the Harrington company I intended to publish, our newspaper’s largest advertiser threatened to pull a seven-figure account.”
Adrian asked, “Did the records involve Halcyon Ridge?”
Elliot frowned.
“I don’t remember that name.”
“Any shell companies?”
“One.”
“What?”
“Briar Glen Services.”
I looked at Adrian.
Briar Glen.
Victoria’s retreat.
The fake photo.
All of it connecting.
Elliot continued.
“The payroll showed hundreds of payments to employees who didn’t exist. Marisol believed the money was redirected to another company.”
“How much?”
“Back then? Maybe three million over several years.”
Adrian calculated quickly.
“In today’s money, much more.”
“Did you verify?”
“I verified enough to scare someone.”
“Would you testify?”
Elliot looked at my father.
“If Samuel is finally ready to tell the truth about what happened that night.”
Dad’s face changed.
Mom turned toward him.
“What truth?”
Dad stared at the screen.
For the first time in my life, my father looked afraid.
“The fire wasn’t empty.”
My stomach dropped.
“What do you mean?”
He whispered:
“Someone was inside.”
Mom gasped.
“Samuel.”
May you like
Dad looked at us.
“I found Charles in Marisol’s office before the fire started.”
