Chapter 17 - Fire on the River
By the time we reached the construction site, smoke covered the riverfront.
Three fire companies surrounded the unfinished rehabilitation center.
Flames had consumed a temporary storage building and spread into the eastern structural wing before crews contained them.
I jumped out of the SUV before Julian could stop me.
“Clare!”
I ran toward the project director.
“Was anyone inside?”
“Two security guards,” he said. “Both got out. One has smoke inhalation.”
Relief nearly buckled my knees.
No deaths.
No children.
No clinical staff.
Just steel, equipment, and paperwork.
Things could be replaced.
People couldn’t.
Julian came beside me.
“Cause?”
The fire chief approached.
“Too early to say.”
Then his expression became careful.
“But we found evidence that the sprinkler supply was manually isolated.”
My stomach dropped.
“Sabotage?”
“I didn’t say that.”
He didn’t need to.
Across the parking area, news vans were already arriving.
Someone had called them quickly.
Too quickly.
Within an hour, the first headline appeared online.
MONTGOMERY-WHITMORE MEDICAL PROJECT ERUPTS IN FLAMES AMID FRAUD QUESTIONS.
Fraud questions.
The lawsuit had not even been filed publicly.
Someone had prewritten the story.
Julian looked at the headline on my phone.
“Vale.”
“Or Ryan.”
His eyes darkened.
“I’m going to find out.”
I caught his arm.
“Not like this.”
“Someone could have died.”
“I know.”
“If Ryan had anything to do with—”
“Then we prove it.”
His jaw clenched.
I understood his anger.
But I also understood something Julian occasionally forgot.
Men like Adrian Vale wanted rage.
Rage created mistakes.
By sunset, the fire was out.
The eastern wing was damaged but standing.
I walked through the muddy construction grounds wearing a borrowed hard hat and reflective vest.
Hundreds of workers had gathered near the entrance.
Some feared the project was finished.
I climbed onto the back of a flatbed truck.
“There will be no layoffs,” I said.
The crowd quieted.
“We will rebuild the damaged section. Every contractor will be paid. Every job will remain.”
A foreman shouted, “What about the lawsuit?”
“Let the lawyers fight.”
A few people laughed nervously.
I continued.
“This center was built for families who have already heard the word impossible too many times. We are not adding one more impossible thing to their lives.”
Applause began near the front.
Then spread.
Julian stood beside the truck, watching me.
I met his eyes.
For the first time that day, he smiled.
Later, as we returned to the estate, Mark called.
“The fire wasn’t the worst development.”
“What now?”
“The police found a security access card near the sprinkler controls.”
“Whose?”
Mark hesitated.
“Ryan Whitmore’s.”
Julian went completely still.
I looked into the darkness beyond the car window.
Ryan wanted revenge.
But arson?
Possible.
Yet something bothered me.
Ryan loved himself too much to risk prison.
May you like
Which meant either desperation had finally made him reckless—
or someone wanted us to believe it had.
