Chapter 5
The heavy boots stopped just yards from where Arthur and Charca crouched beneath the skeletal undercarriage of the railcar. The man in the trench coat muttered a low curse under his breath, kicking a loose tin can across the concrete. The metallic clatter echoed sharply against the brick walls, bouncing off the corrugated roof.
Arthur felt Charca tense beside him, her small frame shivering violently—whether from the creeping cold of her soaked hoodie or the sheer terror of discovery, he could not tell. He pulled her closer, pressing her head gently against his heavy wool coat, trying to shield her from the damp draft sweeping off the tracks. His own heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, but his mind remained preternaturally sharp. He had survived the worst night of his life once before; he refused to let lightning strike twice in the same place.
After a tense eternity, the heavy footsteps turned away, retreating back toward the loading dock entrance and fading into the rhythmic drip of melting rainwater. A distant car door slammed shut, followed by the throaty roar of an engine peeling out onto the wet asphalt.
Charca let out a long, ragged exhale, her shoulders sagging as the adrenaline crash took hold. “He’s gone,” she whispered, her voice trembling uncontrollably. “For now.”
“Who was that?” Arthur asked quietly, keeping his gaze fixed on the shadows near the exit.
“A man who thinks I have something that doesn’t belong to me,” she replied, wincing as she tried to adjust her posture against the rough timber of the railcar tie. She reached down, her fingers brushing the hem of her hoodie, checking to ensure the golden locket was still tucked safely against her collarbone. “Or rather, something my mother left behind in a storage locker before she... before things went bad.”
Arthur’s breath caught in his throat. “Your mother. Evelyn. Is she… is she still alive, Charca?”
Charca looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears in the dim light. She shook her head slowly. “She died three years ago in a charity ward downtown. Lung cancer. She spent the last decade of her life looking over her shoulder, moving from town to town under fake names, always terrified that someone was going to take back what she took from the company safe on the night of the fire.”
The words hit Arthur like a physical blow. The fire wasn't an accident. The jagged pieces of a puzzle he had spent twenty-two years trying to forget suddenly slammed together with terrifying clarity. It wasn't faulty wiring that had destroyed his home and his life; it was a robbery gone horribly wrong, and Evelyn had taken something vital during the chaos to protect her family.
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“She didn't just steal money, did she?” Arthur asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Charca reached into the inner pocket of her wet hoodie and pulled out a small, heavy leather-bound ledger with singed edges and water-damaged pages. She handed it to him. “No. She took the ledger that proved the whole executive board engineered the bankruptcy and burned the records to collect the insurance. The men who ordered that fire are still looking for it. And they think I have it.”
