Chapter 6 - Midnight at the House
The night was pitch-black and slick with rain as I drove down Daniel’s quiet residential street. I parked two blocks away, keeping my headlights off, and approached the property on foot through the shadow of the neighbor's hedge line.
Sure enough, Mark’s black SUV was idling in the driveway with its lights extinguished.
I crept through the backyard, slipping behind the patio glass doors. Inside, illuminated only by the harsh beam of a high-powered flashlight, was Mark. He was kneeling in the center of the living room, surrounded by piles of paper files, manila folders, and hard drives.
Beside him sat a five-gallon red plastic jug of gasoline.
My stomach dropped. He wasn't just burning documents. He was going to burn the entire house down to collect the property insurance and wipe out all physical evidence of his illegal lien!
"You sick bastard," I whispered under my breath.
I knew I should wait for Arthur's team, but I could see Mark unscrewing the cap of the gasoline jug. In less than two minutes, the living room where my son used to play board games with his children would be engulfed in an inferno.
I didn't think. I acted.
I pulled out my key, unlocked the rear kitchen door quietly, and stepped inside the house. I picked up a heavy cast-iron skillet that Vanessa had left on the kitchen counter.
Mark was leaning over, splashing gasoline across the hardwood floors and sloshing it onto the baseboards.
"Smells like money," Mark muttered to himself with a sick, maniacal chuckle.
"It smells like twenty years in maximum security," I said loudly from the kitchen doorway.
Mark spun around so fast he nearly slipped on the wet gasoline. He flashed his flashlight directly into my eyes, blinding me.
"Linda?!" he roared, his voice unhinged. "What the hell are you doing here?!"
"Saving my grandchildren's home," I said, keeping my hands steady despite the blinding light. "Put the gas can down, Mark."
Mark lowered the flashlight slightly, revealing a wild, desperate look in his eyes. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a heavy metal flip-lighter.
"You shouldn't have come here, old woman," Mark snarled, his thumb resting on the lighter's wheel. "You think you're so smart with your accounting degree? Fire destroys everything. DNA, paper, digital drives—it all turns to ash. And when the investigators come tomorrow, they’ll just find two bodies: a grieving grandmother and a tragic accident."
"You're forgetting one thing, Mark," I said calmly, taking one small step forward.
"Yeah? What's that?"
"Forensic accountants don't work alone."
At that exact second, red and blue police lights exploded through the front living room windows, blinding the interior of the house. Siren wails shattered the quiet neighborhood night.
"POLICE! DROP THE LIGHTER! RAISE YOUR HANDS!" a booming loudspeaker echoed from the driveway.
Mark froze, his face illuminated by the flashing crimson lights. He looked toward the front window, then back at me, terror finally washing over his arrogant face.
"Drop it, Mark," I said softly. "It’s over."
In a panic-fueled rage, Mark flicked the lighter open and struck the wheel. A tiny flame erupted in the dark room. He pulled his arm back to throw the lighter onto the gasoline-soaked carpet.
I didn't hesitate. I swung the cast-iron skillet with every ounce of strength in my seventy-one-year-old body.
CLANG!
The heavy iron caught Mark right across the wrist. The lighter flew from his hand, arching through the air and landing harmlessly inside the tiled kitchen sink, where it sputtered out.
Mark howled in pain, clutching his broken wrist, as the front door was kicked off its hinges with a deafening crash.
Tactical officers flooded the hallway, weapons raised. "DOWN ON THE GROUND! NOW!"
Mark collapsed onto the gasoline-soaked floor, sobbing like a child as officers tackled him and pinned his arms behind his back.
Arthur walked through the front doorway, stepping over the broken door frame, and looked at me holding the cast-iron skillet.
May you like
"I told you to wait in the car, Linda," Arthur said with a faint smile.
I set the skillet back on the kitchen island. "And miss the cleanup? Not a chance."
