Chapter 8 - FIRE IN THE GARDEN OF MEMORIESThe first flames appeared at 6:17 that evening.
Chadworth was in the dining room when the security alarm sounded.
Marcus entered at a run.
“Sir, there's a fire near the greenhouse.”
Chadworth rushed toward the windows.
Beyond the darkening lawn, orange flames rose against the trees.
The old greenhouse was burning.
For a second, he couldn't move.
That building had been one of Evelyn's favorite places.
He could almost hear her laughing among the tomato plants, telling him he was watering the wrong pots.
Then he saw flames spreading toward a neighboring storage shed.
“Call the fire department!”
“Already done,” Marcus replied.
Chadworth ran outside.
Smoke rolled across the garden.
A groundskeeper was attempting to drag a hose toward the burning structure.
Chadworth helped him move it away from the spreading fire.
“Stay back,” Marcus ordered. “The roof could collapse.”
A window exploded from the heat.
Chadworth stumbled backward.
Marcus caught his arm.
“Sir, please.”
For one terrible instant, Chadworth imagined Evelyn's ledger still inside.
Then he remembered Detective Ruiz had taken it into evidence that afternoon.
The original was safe.
Someone had been too late.
Someone was now trying to destroy the place where it had been hidden.
Fire engines arrived within minutes.
Firefighters established a perimeter and prevented the flames from spreading to the house.
By the time the fire was controlled, the greenhouse was a blackened shell.
Chadworth stood in the garden, staring at the remains.
Rosamund approached with a coat.
“You'll catch cold.”
He accepted it without speaking.
She followed his gaze.
“Mrs. Prescott loved this place, didn't she?”
“Yes.”
“I'm sorry.”
Chadworth watched a firefighter pull away a scorched wooden beam.
“So am I.”
He paused.
“Not just about the greenhouse.”
Rosamund waited.
“I kept trying to forget her because remembering hurt.”
His voice grew rough.
“I put away her photographs. I closed her office. I had her favorite flowers removed because I couldn't stand seeing them.”
He looked toward the mansion.
“I thought I was helping the girls move forward.”
“Grief doesn't work the same way for everyone,” Rosamund said.
“I know that now.”
She looked toward the charred structure.
“Maybe the girls would like to remember her with you instead of feeling they have to do it alone.”
Chadworth nodded.
It was a simple suggestion.
Somehow, it felt more useful than anything his expensive grief counselors had once told him.
The fire investigators soon reported signs of deliberate ignition.
Chadworth contacted Detective Ruiz.
She arrived with another investigator before midnight.
They photographed the damaged structure, collected samples, and questioned the groundskeeper.
Ruiz gave Chadworth a sober assessment.
“This appears consistent with an attempt to destroy evidence, intimidate your family, or both.”
“Sabina?”
“She's one person we're examining. We can't assume responsibility before we've established it.”
“And Elliott?”
“His connection to your wife's final scheduled meeting makes him important to the investigation.”
Chadworth looked toward the ruins.
“Someone killed Evelyn.”
Ruiz didn't confirm that conclusion.
“We have reasons to reexamine her death. That's as far as I can responsibly go tonight.”
Chadworth respected the distinction, although every part of him wanted certainty.
The next morning, a forensic accounting team selected by Cora began reviewing the blue ledger alongside Prescott Meridian's records.
By afternoon, they had identified several transactions requiring urgent explanation.
One problem stood out.
The $18.4 million authorization.
Chadworth had hoped his signature was forged.
It wasn't that simple.
A verified corporate copy showed that he had electronically approved a group of capital transfers on the same date.
The payment had been presented to him under a broader infrastructure financing package.
He remembered approving that package during a conference in Chicago.
Elliott had assured him the documents were routine.
But Chadworth had authorized them.
He couldn't pretend otherwise.
Cora watched his reaction.
“You may not have known how the money would be used.”
“I should have.”
“That's different from knowingly committing fraud.”
“I know.”
He stared at the report.
“But the families in Redwater didn't receive what they were promised. My name was on the approval.”
Cora closed the folder.
“Then your responsibility is to help establish what happened and correct it. You can cooperate without claiming guilt for crimes you didn't knowingly commit.”
For the first time, Chadworth considered the possibility that protecting his reputation might no longer be the most important objective.
He asked Cora to arrange a meeting with independent environmental specialists and representatives of the affected residents.
He wanted to hear from the people Evelyn had been trying to help.
Later that week, he met Daria Bell, a community organizer from Redwater.
She was a middle-aged woman who worked as a school cafeteria manager and had spent years trying to draw attention to unfinished environmental repairs.
She didn't smile when Chadworth entered the room.
“Mr. Prescott.”
“Ms. Bell.”
“I've written your office twelve times.”
“I know.”
“I never received a meaningful answer.”
“I know that too.”
She studied him.
“Then why are you here?”
Chadworth looked at the folder containing photographs of Redwater homes.
“Because I finally read what my wife was trying to tell me.”
Daria's expression changed slightly.
“Evelyn listened to us.”
Chadworth nodded.
“She did.”
“She came to community meetings without photographers. She sat in people's kitchens. She took notes when parents said their children were getting sick.”
Chadworth felt his throat tighten.
“I didn't know.”
“You could have.”
The words struck him with painful accuracy.
Daria continued.
“We weren't asking for luxury, Mr. Prescott. We were asking for the promised testing and cleanup. We wanted to know whether our water was safe.”
He looked at her.
“Then that's where we start.”
He authorized independent environmental testing and committed personal funds to establish a temporary assistance program, with outside oversight so it wouldn't interfere with the investigation.
But Daria wasn't interested in promises.
“People have heard promises before.”
“Then judge me by what happens next.”
That evening, Chadworth returned home exhausted.
Lorelai was sitting on the staircase.
“Daddy?”
He stopped.
“Yes?”
“Did Mommy really try to help people?”
“Yes.”
“Were you mad at her for doing it?”
He sat beside her.
“I didn't understand how important it was.”
Lorelai considered that.
“Are you going to help them now?”
“I am.”
She rested her head against his shoulder.
For the first time in months, the gesture felt spontaneous.
Then his phone rang.
Cora.
“Chadworth, we've completed the first comparison of the original transaction records.”
“What did you find?”
“The transfer authorization wasn't altered after you signed it.”
He closed his eyes.
Cora continued.
“Someone sent you the full supporting documents before the approval. There's proof they reached your executive inbox.”
Chadworth swallowed.
“Are you saying I knew?”
“Not necessarily. But there's something you need to see.”
A document appeared on his phone.
It was an email from his own corporate account, dated two days before Evelyn's death.
The subject line read:
Redwater—Suspend Further Investigation.
The message instructed the company to stop cooperating with external environmental consultants.
At the bottom was his electronic approval.
Chadworth stared at the screen.
He remembered no such instruction.
May you like
Then Cora said something that made his blood run cold.
“The email was sent while you were attending Evelyn's last anniversary dinner—and Elliott Crane was the only person authorized to access your executive account during that period.”
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