Chapter 6 - Trial by Fire
The night sky over the Mississippi River was painted an angry, bruised orange. By the time Carmine’s black sedan screeched to a halt outside the Tchoupitoulas warehouse, the heat was already radiating against their faces through the closed windows. Fire trucks lined the boulevard, their red and blue strobes flashing against the billowing clouds of black smoke that choked the humid air.
Nell stepped out of the car, coughing as the acrid smell of burning timber and melting plastic hit her throat. It was the exact same smell. The smell of Magazine Street. The smell of her father's life turning to ash.
"Stay back," Carmine commanded, his voice sharp as he pulled her slightly behind him. He turned to Benny. "Who was inside?"
"Night watchman," Benny shouted over the roar of the flames and the howling whine of high-pressure water hoses. "Old man named Higgins. They pulled him out ten minutes ago, but he's breathing smoke. They've got him in the back of an ambulance."
Carmine’s jaw tightened until the muscles in his cheek twitched. He pulled out his phone, his thumb flying across the screen. "Find Julian Meridian. I want to know if his flight to Zurich was delayed."
"Already checked, boss," Benny said grimly. "His private jet cleared the tarmac at Louis Armstrong International twenty minutes before the alarm went off. He's gone."
"He's not gone far," Carmine said, his eyes narrowing into cold, obsidian slits. "Nobody burns my property twice."
Nell stared at the roaring flames, her heart pounding in her ears. The terror that had paralyzed her three years ago was gone, replaced by a cold, searing clarity. She remembered the padlock. She remembered the locked back door.
"It wasn't an accident," she said, her voice cutting through the noise of the sirens.
Carmine turned to look at her. "What did you say?"
"Look at the smoke," Nell said, pointing toward the northern corner of the burning structure. "It's too dark. Too dense. That's not burning timber. That's chemical accelerant. Diesel fuel or industrial solvent."
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Carmine stared at her for a fraction of a second, then nodded. He turned to Benny. "Get the port authority on the phone. Tell them to shut down every outbound bridge and river lock between here and the Gulf. Julian didn't fly to Zurich. That was a decoy. He’s heading for his yacht moored down in Venice."
Within ten minutes, they were back in the car, speeding south down the highway toward the delta, cutting through the dark Louisiana swamplands with headlights blazing.
