Chapter 2 - The Ashes of the Past
The next morning, I drove to our old neighborhood.
The skeletal remains of our Chicago home stood behind a chain-link fence, cordoned off by yellow caution tape.
The smell of charred wood still clung to the air, making my stomach turn.
I pulled my scarf higher over the scarred left side of my face.
"You shouldn't be here, ma'am," a voice called out.
I turned to see a man in a heavy jacket approaching. He held a clipboard.
"I'm the homeowner," I said. "Emily Davis."
His stern expression softened. "I'm Fire Investigator Miller. I worked your case."
"The report said it was an electrical fault in the kitchen," I said, testing him.
Miller frowned, looking at the burned foundation.
"That was the official ruling, yes."
"But you didn't agree with it?"
He hesitated, tapping his pen against the clipboard.
"Off the record? I found unusual burn patterns in the hallway. Near the back office."
My heart hammered against my ribs.
"Why wasn't that in the report?" I asked.
"Your husband's insurance company brought in their own private investigators very quickly," Miller explained. "They concluded electrical. And frankly, your husband corroborated it."
"Ryan told you the fire started in the kitchen?"
"He said he woke up, went for a glass of water, and saw the stove sparking."
A blatant lie. Ryan had been unconscious upstairs.
"Mr. Miller, my husband was passed out in the guest room. I dragged him out."
Miller stopped tapping his pen.
"Mrs. Davis, your husband told the police he pulled you out of the fire."
The air left my lungs.
"He lied," I choked out.
"Why would he lie about saving his wife?"
"Because he needed to be the hero," I realized aloud. "A hero wouldn't be suspected of arson."
"If you have new information," Miller said quietly, "you need to go to the police."
"I don't have proof. Yet."
I thanked him and walked back to my car.
Ryan had controlled the narrative while I was in a medically induced coma.
He had painted himself as the savior to avoid scrutiny.
May you like
I took out my phone and dialed the one person at Ryan's company I actually trusted.
"Mark," I said when he answered. "I need your help."
