Chapter 8 - THE FIRE
Malcolm stepped away from Victor.
“This was not the agreement.”
Victor kept the gun trained on Richard.
“The agreement changed.”
“You said we were destroying records.”
“We are.”
“You never mentioned murder.”
Victor laughed.
“You have billed me for fifteen years.”
“Do not pretend morality suddenly became affordable.”
Malcolm looked toward the door.
Victor pointed the weapon at him.
“Stay.”
The fire inside the metal bin had spread to the rug.
Smoke climbed toward the ceiling.
Lena watched the green phone lying near the desk.
The red emergency light was still blinking.
Detective Quinn could hear everything.
But the lake house was isolated.
The officers might not reach them before Victor fired.
Helen rose slowly.
“Give me the gun.”
Victor stared at her.
“Sit down.”
“I should have stopped you years ago.”
“You never had the courage.”
“You are right.”
Helen stepped closer.
“I was afraid you would stop loving me.”
Victor’s face softened slightly.
Helen continued moving.
“I excused every cruel thing you did.”
“I blamed teachers.”
“I blamed friends.”
“I blamed Lena.”
“I blamed your father.”
Victor’s hand trembled.
“I loved you.”
“No.”
Helen stopped several feet away.
“You loved the version of me that never said no.”
The fire reached the curtains.
Flames climbed the heavy fabric.
A smoke alarm began shrieking.
Victor turned his head for one second.
Richard lunged.
The gun fired.
The bullet struck the bookshelf.
Lena kicked the weapon from Victor’s hand.
Malcolm ran for the door.
Helen grabbed the green phone.
Victor struck Richard across the jaw.
Then he caught Lena by the hair and dragged her backward.
Smoke filled the room.
“Where are the other ledgers?” he shouted.
Lena fought to breathe.
“I don’t know.”
“You copied them.”
“I copied what you left at home.”
Victor tightened his grip.
“Where are the files?”
Helen threw the green phone toward the open doorway.
Victor released Lena and chased it.
Richard tackled him from the side.
All three men crashed against the desk.
The burning curtain collapsed.
Fire spread across the carpet.
Windows shattered from the heat.
A voice boomed outside.
“Federal agents.”
Victor crawled toward the gun.
Lena saw it first.
She kicked it beneath the burning desk.
Victor grabbed her ankle.
She fell hard.
His fingers closed around her throat.
“You destroyed everything,” he said.
Lena clawed at his hands.
“No.”
Her voice was barely a whisper.
“You did.”
The study door burst open.
Detective Quinn entered through the smoke.
She struck Victor across the shoulder with the stock of her weapon.
He rolled away.
Agents dragged him to the floor.
Malcolm was arrested near the garage.
Helen and Richard were carried outside.
Lena emerged last.
Snow struck her face.
Behind them, flames consumed the lake house.
Victor lay handcuffed in the frozen mud.
He looked at the burning building.
Then he began to laugh.
“The books are gone.”
May you like
Detective Quinn held up the dark-green phone.
“The recording is not.”
