Chapter 4 - FORTY-TWO DAYS
By noon, we were sitting in Maya Benson’s conference room.
Jessica sat on one side of the table.
I sat on the other.
It was the first time in twelve years we had voluntarily entered the same room to discuss the fire.
Uncle Daniel arrived ten minutes later carrying a banker’s box.
He looked older than he had the night before.
“I should have looked sooner,” he said.
Maya closed the door.
“Before anyone says another word, I need everyone to understand something. If these documents indicate financial crimes, insurance fraud, evidence tampering, or theft, I represent Kristen. I do not represent the Hale family, Hale Development, Jessica, or Daniel.”
Jessica rolled her eyes.
“Good morning to you too.”
Maya didn’t react.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Daniel nodded.
“Yes.”
The box contained twenty-two years of financial records.
Old insurance binders.
Tax statements.
Trust documents.
Company loan agreements.
Maya spent nearly an hour organizing them.
Then she found the endorsement.
Forty-two days before the fire, Dad increased coverage on our home.
Building coverage increased by $1.5 million.
Personal property coverage increased by $750,000.
Additional riders covered artwork, jewelry, and custom architectural improvements.
“What was the reason?” Maya asked.
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
“The house was being renovated.”
“Was the work worth that amount?”
“No.”
“How much?”
“Maybe four hundred thousand.”
Jessica leaned back.
“This is insane. You think Dad burned the house?”
“No,” I said.
Maya looked at me.
“Why not?”
“Because we were inside.”
“That doesn’t eliminate the possibility.”
“It should.”
Nobody answered.
I hated that.
I hated that twelve years of lies made it possible to ask whether my father had knowingly endangered his daughters.
Daniel opened another folder.
“Richard was in trouble that year.”
Jessica frowned.
“With what?”
“Hale Development had taken on a waterfront project outside Norfolk. The financing collapsed after one investor pulled out.”
“How much trouble?”
“About $2.6 million.”
My skin went cold.
“And the insurance payout?”
Daniel looked at me.
“Total property and contents payout was just over $3.1 million.”
The room became very quiet.
Jessica shook her head.
“No.”
Maya turned to Daniel.
“Where was Richard the night of the fire?”
“At the country club.”
“With Mom?”
“Your mother was at a charity dinner.”
“Then he couldn’t have—”
“He came home that afternoon,” I said.
Jessica looked at me.
“What?”
I remembered something.
Dad in work clothes.
The smell of paint.
A contractor van in the driveway.
He had gone upstairs around five.
At dinner, Mom complained that he had left solvent cans near the hall.
Dad told her the crew would move them Monday.
I had forgotten because nothing about it seemed important then.
Until now.
“He was home before the fire,” I said.
Daniel looked uneasy.
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“No,” Maya agreed. “But it matters.”
Jessica pushed away from the table.
“This is ridiculous.”
She began pacing.
“Our father is controlling. He lies. Apparently he steals. Fine. But he didn’t burn down our house while his daughters were inside.”
I watched her.
“Would you have said yesterday that he stole from my medical trust?”
She stopped walking.
“No.”
“Would you have said he pressured us to lie to investigators?”
“No.”
“Would you have said he hid a supplemental fire report?”
She didn’t answer.
Maya lifted a hand.
“We are not accusing anyone of arson based on paperwork and memory. We verify.”
She looked at Daniel.
“Who was Morrison?”
“Thomas Morrison. Claims consultant.”
“Alive?”
“I think so.”
“Find him.”
Daniel hesitated.
“My brother will know I’m helping.”
“Yes,” Maya said.
“That concerns you?”
“Richard controls sixty-eight percent of Hale Development.”
“So?”
“I own fourteen.”
“You’re worried about money?”
Daniel’s face hardened.
“I’m worried about four hundred employees.”
That shut us up.
He continued.
“If Richard panics and starts moving assets or destroying records, this doesn’t just affect him.”
Maya nodded.
“Fair. Then we proceed carefully.”
My phone buzzed.
MOM.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Then Jessica’s phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
“Dad.”
“Don’t answer,” Maya said.
Jessica ignored her and pressed the button.
“What?”
Dad’s voice was loud enough that I could hear him without speakerphone.
“Where are you?”
“Out.”
“With Kristen?”
Jessica looked at me.
“Why?”
“Come home.”
“No.”
“Jessica.”
“I said no.”
His voice softened.
That was always worse.
“Sweetheart, your sister is angry. I understand that. But she’s dragging you into something that could destroy everything we built.”
I watched Jessica’s expression.
For thirty years, Dad had known exactly how to speak to her.
Sweetheart.
Everything we built.
He gave her belonging as a reward.
I got responsibility.
Jessica surprised me.
“Was my UVA tuition paid from Kristen’s trust?”
Silence.
“Jessica—”
“Yes or no?”
“Family finances are complicated.”
“Yes or no?”
“I invested money where it benefited both of you.”
Jessica laughed bitterly.
“So yes.”
“I gave you an education.”
“With money belonging to my sister.”
“Kristen benefited from this family every day of her life.”
I reached for the phone.
Jessica pulled it away.
“No. I’m not done.”
Her eyes were wet.
“Did you pay for my boutique with her money?”
Dad’s voice sharpened.
“Who has been filling your head with this?”
“Answer me.”
“I built that company for you.”
“No. Apparently Kristen did.”
She ended the call.
Nobody spoke.
Jessica sat down.
For the first time, I saw her cry without trying to make someone notice.
Quiet tears.
Angry tears.
She wiped them away immediately.
“Don’t look at me.”
I looked at Maya instead.
“What happens if the money is gone?”
“We trace assets.”
“And if he used it twelve years ago?”
“We determine liability. Trustees have duties. Fraud changes limitation questions. Forgery changes them more.”
Jessica glanced at me.
“Forgery?”
Maya slid over three withdrawal forms.
“Kristen says these aren’t her signatures.”
Jessica studied them.
“They aren’t.”
“How can you tell?”
“She doesn’t make her K like that.”
The answer came instantly.
I stared at her.
Jessica shrugged.
“We’re twins. I’ve seen her signature since we were kids.”
The irony almost hurt.
She could recognize my handwriting.
She just couldn’t recognize my pain.
Daniel’s phone rang.
He stood and stepped into the hall.
When he returned, his expression had changed.
“I found Morrison.”
Maya leaned forward.
“Where?”
“Charlottesville.”
“Will he talk?”
“He already did.”
Daniel placed his phone on the table.
“He says he kept a copy of the original investigation because Richard threatened him.”
Jessica froze.
“Threatened him how?”
“He wouldn’t tell me on the phone.”
“When can we meet?”
“Tomorrow.”
Maya looked at me.
“Then tomorrow we learn what actually happened.”
But we didn’t have to wait that long for the next blow.
That evening, at 6:42, an envelope appeared beneath my apartment door.
No return address.
Inside was a photograph.
It had been taken the night of the fire.
The timestamp read 8:31 p.m.
Forty-six minutes before the first 911 call.
Dad stood in the south hallway of our house.
Beside him were three red gasoline cans.
May you like
On the back, someone had written six words.
ASK YOUR FATHER WHAT HE WAS BURNING.
