Chapter 7 - The Arsonist’s Ledger
The name hung in the humid hallway air like sulfur. Clara lowered the ceramic mug by an inch, her fingers trembling against the handle as she stared at the stranger standing in the dim light of the entryway. The man didn't look like a hardened criminal; he looked like a broken mechanic, wearing oil-stained work boots and smelling faintly of gasoline and cheap tobacco.
“You’re lying,” Clara said, her voice shaking despite her attempt to sound authoritative. “Elena wouldn't burn down her own asset. She wants the equity.”
The man let out a dry, humorless chuckle, reaching inside his trench coat to pull out a thick manila envelope, which he tossed carelessly onto the hallway console table.
“She doesn't want the house, Clara,” the man said, stepping closer while keeping his hands visible to show he meant no harm. “She wants the insurance payout. The property value in this neighborhood plummeted after the zoning board approved the industrial park down the road. She owes half a million to private lenders in Boston who were about to break her legs if she didn't settle up by the end of the month.”
Martha stepped out from the kitchen doorway, her face ghostly white in the shadows.
“Who are you?” Martha asked, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and indignation.
“Name’s Tom,” the man replied, tipping his hat slightly. “I do odd jobs for people who find themselves in tight corners. Elena hired me two weeks ago to wire the basement crawlspace with accelerant triggers tied to a remote timer. But then I found something in the floor joists while I was placing the lines.”
Clara stepped forward, her protective instincts overriding her fear. “What did you find?”
Tom reached into his pocket again, pulling out a small, tarnished silver locket on a broken chain and laying it gently on the console table beside the manila envelope.
Clara gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. It was her grandmother’s locket—the one that had mysteriously vanished from the master bedroom safe three years ago, right around the time Elena first moved into the house to help care for Arthur.
“She didn't just steal money and real estate,” Tom said quietly, watching Clara’s reaction with steady eyes. “She’s been systematically looting this family’s history and pawns items piece by piece in Rhode Island under an alias.”
Clara stared at the locket, the cold reality of Elena’s malice washing over her in a freezing wave. She picked up the manila envelope and opened it, pulling out a stack of photographs showing receipts from pawn shops in Providence, all bearing Elena’s signature and driver’s license number.
“Why are you telling us this?” Clara asked, looking up into Tom’s scarred face. “If you were hired to burn the house down, why betray your employer?”
May you like
Tom smiled faintly, a sad, distant expression crossing his features. “Because I have a daughter of my own, and looking at you two reminds me of the sister I lost to greed a long time ago. Besides, Elena shorted me half my advance.”
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