Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN BEHIND THE SCARS|
For the first time in five years, I wanted to look at the fire photographs without turning away.
I took the hospital picture to Rebecca the next morning. She studied the reflection with a magnifying glass and enlarged it on her computer.
"That's him," she said. "Martin Kessler."
"Why was he at the hospital?"
"Maybe he visited Preston. Maybe he wanted to know what you remembered."
I remembered the days after the fire in fragments: pain medication, nurses adjusting the dressings, my mother crying in the hallway, and Preston insisting that I rest.
He had controlled every visitor.
He had also taken my phone, saying it had been damaged in the fire.
I had never questioned it.
Rebecca asked whether I still had the original phone.
"No. Preston said the insurance company disposed of it."
She made another note.
"That's worth investigating."
At noon, Gideon called.
"Come to the office. We have a development."
When I arrived, his legal team had discovered that Martin Kessler's investment group had recently purchased a significant amount of Hale Meridian debt. If Preston secured his equity transfer, Kessler's group would gain influence over the company.
It was a carefully arranged chain of transactions.
"Preston thinks he's getting control," Gideon said. "But he may actually be handing the company to Kessler."
"Why would he do that?"
"Because Kessler may have something on him."
I thought of the fire.
"Something from that night?"
Gideon nodded.
He showed me an email recovered from an old company archive. It was dated three days before the fire.
The original ledger must be removed before the acquisition review. No digital copies can remain in the building.
The sender was Martin Kessler.
The recipient was Preston.
I read it again.
"Did they start the fire to destroy the ledger?"
"We don't know that. But the fire destroyed the records, and someone profited from the insurance settlement."
I felt my hands begin to shake.
"What was in the ledger?"
"Payments to shell companies. Possibly unauthorized transfers. Possibly evidence of a larger fraud."
"Then why did I get hurt?"
Gideon didn't answer immediately.
"I don't know."
I looked down at my scars, visible above the neckline of my blouse.
"Preston was inside when the fire started. I found him near the office door. He could barely stand. I dragged him through the corridor."
Gideon watched me carefully.
"Did he tell you how he became trapped?"
"He said the door had jammed."
"Was it locked?"
I closed my eyes.
I remembered the handle. I remembered pulling it and finding it wouldn't move. I remembered Preston shouting from inside.
But I also remembered something else.
A metal key turning on the other side.
I opened my eyes.
"I heard someone lock the door."
The room fell silent.
Gideon leaned forward.
"You're certain?"
"I don't know. I was coughing. Everything was burning. But I remember the sound."
He called his investigator.
Within an hour, they had located a former security guard who worked at the building that night. His name was Samuel Price, and he had filed a complaint against Hale Meridian before being dismissed.
The investigator had tried to contact him twice.
This time, Samuel answered.
He agreed to meet us.
Before we left, Gideon gave me a warning.
"Whatever happened that night, Preston may not be the only person responsible. Don't assume that the truth will be easy to hear."
I nodded.
We met Samuel in a quiet diner in Queens. He looked older than the photograph Gideon had shown me, with gray hair and tired eyes.
He recognized me immediately.
"You're the woman who went back inside."
"Yes."
He lowered his coffee.
"I've wondered for five years whether you'd ever ask what really happened."
My heart began pounding.
"What did you see?"
Samuel looked toward the window.
Then he said, "Your husband wasn't trapped when you found him."
May you like
He leaned closer.
"He was trying to get something out of that office—and someone had locked the door behind him."
