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NEWS OF THE FIRE HAD wakened and turned out most of the town’s citizenry. Those who rushed to the lodge to help fight the fire arrived too late but witnessed the tail-end of the confrontation between Banner’s men, the lodge’s residents, and the sheriff.
The bells of David Kalbørg’s church pealed in the distance, and more townspeople gathered as Wyndom and his deputies herded the two groups, Joy’s household and Banner’s gang of thugs, toward the little plaza. Reports that Wyndom was bringing them into town at gunpoint stirred speculation and concern.
The band of refugees from the lodge was ill-dressed, disheveled, and smoke-stained. Rose and Arnie supported Joy as they marched ahead of Wyndom and his men. Her side stabbed her viciously with every breath, and she feared her ribs were broken. She was worried, too, that Banner, Darrow, or one of their men would scrutinize the blanket-clad figure huddled under Mr. Wheatley’s wing. So far no one had recognized Mei-Xing. Billy carried little Will, Marit and Breona stayed close beside him, and O’Dell brought up the rear of their straggling troop.
Banner and his disarmed men obeyed Wyndom’s commands but glared with menace in his direction. In the grassy area of the town square, Wyndom stepped up onto the monument’s pedestal where he could be seen. He was about to speak when the crowd to his left began to murmur and then parted.
Dean Morgan walked through the wide berth they gave him.
Joy had never laid eyes on the man, but she had no doubt as to his identity. Everything about him spoke of the power he seemed to wield with so little effort: the superior manner in which he held himself, the confidence of his demeanor, the exquisite cut of his suit. Even the bodyguard whose cold, stony expression cleared the way for his employer.
“Sheriff. Glad to see you up and about.” Morgan smiled. “Perhaps, though, you are a bit ‘out of the loop,’ on this issue. Mr. Fletcher?”
“I, uh, I did tell the sheriff that we had a warrant and that you had authorized us to arrest Miss Thoresen.” Fletcher swallowed hard. “He, uh, refused to allow us to take her into custody.”
“I see. Hmm. Sheriff Wyndom, I must ask you to stand down and let this warrant be served.”
Murmurs arose from the citizens gathered in the plaza. Most knew Joy. She saw David and Uli elbowing their way through the throng, saw their anxious faces looking for her and the others.
“Mr. Fletcher?” Morgan repeated.
“Settle down, everyone, settle down.” Fletcher was in his element now. The crowd in the town square quieted to hear what was next.
Obeying a nod from Morgan, Fletcher called out. “Joy Thoresen, I, uh, we arrest you for arson and-and, um, and attempted murder.” He hadn’t read from his paper this time and fumbled his words, his delivery falling a bit flat.
Joy focused on breathing. The pain in her side was so intense that she could scarcely find the strength to inhale. She had to push aside everything else, even the sound of Marit sobbing behind her.
Concentrate, Joy, she ordered herself. Do not falter now. She grasped the satchel Rose still carried. She knew how she had to respond: As a follower of Jesus, she could not take vengeance on Morgan. Whatever consequences came of this night, they had to be of Morgan’s own making.
Pushing down the pain, she raised her voice. “Actually, Mr. Fletcher, I believe the people of Corinth should hear what I have to say. After that, perhaps they will arrest Mr. Morgan, and not me, for arson and attempted murder.”
If the plaza had been quiet before this, it was now breathless. Not a soul made a sound. Except Morgan. He snorted in amused derision.
Fletcher glanced at Morgan for direction. The stare Morgan turned on him, rather than embolden him, froze him in place.
Banner, backed by three of Morgan’s men, moved toward Joy. Banner shouted, “Miss Thoresen. No one is being arrested except you. And we will add the charge of public slander against Mr. Morgan to the other charges.” He looked around, daring anyone to challenge him. “The good people of Corinth are witnesses to that slander.”
Joy raised her voice and called. “I believe the good people of Corinth will want to know why their city’s treasury and their personal investments have been wiped out.”
The crowd in the plaza murmured and several men called out, “What is she talking about?” “What does that mean?”
Her friends and family watched her with wide, startled eyes. Breona was still and watchful, the way she always was when danger raised its head. Even Marit stopped weeping and stared at her open-mouthed.
Morgan flushed but controlled himself. “Her assertions are baseless and mean absolutely nothing, of course. I assure you, the city’s funds and your investments being held by my company are safe. This is merely more slander.”
“Is it, Mr. Morgan?” Joy’s voice echoed high and clear across the plaza. She closed her eyes for a second against the pain and then forced herself to stand taller.
“Why would I burn my own lodge? Even though it wasn’t making a profit just yet, it was paid for. And it is—it was—my home. Why would I burn my own home? I am, however, well insured.” She unsnapped the satchel and pulled out a document. “I hold my policy in my hand.” She held it up for all to see.
“And that is likely your motive, Miss Thoresen,” Morgan sneered. He called out to the sheriff, “Sheriff Wyndom, I demand that you do your duty and assist in taking this woman into custody. The issue of her insurance has no bearing on the charges against her.”
“Ah, but it does.” Joy lifted up the policy for all to see. “You should know that I am fully insured up to $100,000 against flood, wind, theft, vandalism, and fire. I am even insured,” she paused for emphasis, “against arson. The arson coverage came into effect just eight days ago—April 15.
“I paid an exorbitant premium to double indemnify against arson. To be clear, I had to wait ninety days for the coverage to come into effect, but now that it has, I am insured for $200,000 in the case of arson.”
The crowd gasped at the large amount.
She turned in a complete circle, holding up the policy, until she was again facing Morgan. “The company with whom I hold this policy is Liberty Indemnity out of Omaha.”
Morgan looked like he was thinking hard. His brows drew together into a dark line.
“You forget that I grew up in Nebraska, Mr. Morgan. You forget that I lived in Omaha, have family there—and have been burned out once before. I learned a bit about fire insurance through that experience. I also have . . . connections in Omaha and a community there that esteems me and knows I was wrongly accused of arson once. Liberty Indemnity was willing, even eager, to double indemnify my property against arson—based on our . . . history.”
She stared hard at Morgan. He had started to flush.
She called out to the crowd again, “Liberty Indemnity.” She faced Morgan. “You are familiar with this company, are you not, Mr. Morgan?”
Joy’s eyes were locked on Morgan but then slid over to where Marit, Breona, and Mei-Xing were watching. The many months of work, worry, and prayer? Most of her savings? And the futures of these young women God had allowed her to snatch from the snare of the enemy?
All were on the line.
It all came down to this moment. Would her tremendous risk pay off or would she fail? Fail these women, her sisters?
She coughed and bit back a whimper as pain knifed through her side and into her lungs. Drawing another ragged breath, she cried out, “Liberty Indemnity. A wholly owned subsidiary of Morgan Investment Holdings. Is that not true, Mr. Morgan?”
Speculation and confusion rippled through the townspeople. A Corinth businessman, Seth Ryan, called out, “I still do not understand! What does that mean?”
“What it means, Mr. Ryan, is this: Liberty Indemnity owes me $200,000. But where will that money come from? Liberty Indemnity had a very bad year last year, enabling Mr. Morgan here to pick it up at a bargain price.
“However, according to my very reliable sources in Omaha, Liberty Indemnity is still recovering—and will be unable to pay the claim on its own. Its parent company, Morgan Investment Holdings, is its banker, its guarantor. Is that not correct, Mr. Morgan? It means Morgan Investment Holdings will pay me. Am I right, Mr. Morgan?
“And I am wondering—as should you all,” Joy addressed the people standing in the dark around her and then faced Morgan again, “What impact my claim will have upon your company, Mr. Morgan. How will it affect the City of Corinth and the people standing here who have invested their life savings with Morgan Investment Holdings? Does your company have $200,000 in ready, available funds, Mr. Morgan?”
She turned her back on him and spoke to the crowd. “The answer is no. Morgan Investment Holdings does not have that money. How do I know this? I know because I have been having him investigated for the past four months. I know because I am a businesswoman. And I understand what he has been doing.”
She walked slowly around the edge of the shocked and silent crowd, looking into every face. She knew that everything depended on her making them see and understand.
“I know that Mr. Morgan is greedy. He is sinking his fingers into as many pies as possible as quickly as possible—here and in Denver.
Why? Power. He wants it—he craves it. In his drive for power he is overextended—operating on a very thin margin.” She paused and said restated herself. “In plain language, it means that Mr. Morgan is cash-poor.”
A few heads were starting to nod.
“As Liberty Indemnity is unable to pay my claim, its parent company, Morgan Investment Holdings, must pay. But in order to pay my claim, Morgan Investment Holdings will have to sell many of the assets and investments it has only recently acquired.”
She murmured into the waiting hush, “Corinth’s assets. Your investments.”
Joy turned back to Morgan.
“It is not a wise business move to sell what you have only recently bought, is it, Mr. Morgan? You would have to sell at a loss, and you would lose a significant amount of invested principal. Why, after you paid me, Morgan Investment Holdings would likely be bankrupt. Wouldn’t it, Mr. Morgan? And if the City of Corinth or these good people wanted to withdraw their money, they would find that they are bankrupt, too.”
Angry protests erupted across the plaza as people began to comprehend.
Morgan shouted over them, “Calm down, calm down! This is utter fabrication on Miss Thoresen’s part—she is a liar and is attempting to bring down this town! Your investments are perfectly safe with me. Sheriff, put an end to this immediately!” Morgan spoke to Sheriff Wyndom but gestured to Banner’s men and they advanced on Joy.
Sheriff Wyndom, though, pulled his gun and pointed it in the air. Its sharp report stopped the men in their tracks. The crowd again went silent.
“I am the law in this town. No one—and I mean no one—lays a hand on this woman.”
He turned toward Morgan and spoke with blunt, hard words. “Morgan, I invested everything I have with you before I knew better. I want to hear the rest of what Miss Thoresen has to say.”
Morgan started to speak, but Sheriff Wyndom waved him off with the pistol in his hand.
“Miss Thoresen,” he called, “I think the people of Corinth want to hear this again. We might not be quite clear about what you are telling us.”
A chorus of shouts affirmed him.
Joy, faintness creeping over her, struggled to gather her fuzzy thoughts. “It is very simple, really. I have an arson clause with Liberty Indemnity for $200,000, a claim that, in their diminished state, they are unable to pay. Mr. Morgan’s company owns Liberty Indemnity, therefore, his company owes me $200,000.” She paused, her eyes wandering around the plaza, a shadow sliding down on her vision.
Gathering herself with tremendous effort, she concluded, “The only way Morgan Investments does not go under, taking all of your money with it, is if the arsonist, the man who ordered my property torched, is found and convicted—then he would be liable.”
Unsteady on her feet now, Joy looked over to Morgan. “It is called subrogation. Liberty Indemnity can go after the personal assets of the arsonist to satisfy the claim. You have bought quite a few properties in Denver recently, have you not, Mr. Morgan? Personal purchases? All cash. All free and clear?”
The collective eyes of Corinth turned on Dean Morgan. That single movement told Joy all she needed to know. The residents of Corinth knew in their hearts that Morgan had burned her out.
The tide was beginning to turn.
“But you should also know, good people of Corinth . . . this is not the first time Mr. Morgan has burned someone out. This is not the first time, is it, Mr. Morgan?
“Or should I call you Mr. Franklin?”
Few people in the crowd understood the significance of that name, but for those few it brought great satisfaction. Arnie’s grin was ferocious. He had never been prouder of Joy. Then O’Dell yanked on his sleeve.
“Watch out—they’re making a break for it.”
Banner, Darrow, and a few of the more intelligent of Banner’s men, sensing a sea change in the assembly of townsfolk, were backing away, attempting to melt into the crowd.
But a further commotion outside the town square brought Banner and Darrow to a halt. The sounds of scuffling and fighting erupted on the other side of the crowd and then,
“Halt!”
Voices in the dark announced, “U.S. Marshals! And deputized agents of the Pinkerton Agency! We have this area surrounded. Nobody move!”
Joy wavered on her feet. Morgan, with an uncommon fury in his eyes, hissed, “We are not done, by God. I will make you wish you had never been born, Mrs. Michaels!”
He shouted some instructions in Chinese to his ever-present bodyguard, who launched himself toward the ragged group from the lodge. He grabbed Rose and, bending her neck unnaturally, held her that way, the threat obvious. He and Morgan began to back away from the crowd, dragging Joy’s mother with them.
And then, standing small and alone between Morgan and his escape, was tiny Mei-Xing. She pulled the thin blanket away from her and let it drop to the ground. She stared at the man holding Rose.
“Su-Chong.” Her words ached. Her tiny hands clutched at her heart. “Su-Chong Chen!”
Morgan’s Chinese bodyguard halted. He stared in disbelief.
“Mei-Xing! Mei-Xing?”
“What are you waiting for?” Morgan roared. He stood as close to his bodyguard and Rose as he could, knowing that anyone who fired at him risked hitting the woman.
But Su-Chong could not move. “Mei-Xing? How? I went back to make it right with you, to leave my father’s business and take you away to start a new life. They said you were dead. That you killed yourself!”
Mei-Xing inclined her head. “Your mother told you this?”
“I—yes. She showed me your note.”
“Your mother has always been very clever, Su-Chong. And very vindictive. When I rejected you and you left Seattle, she hated me.”
“She would never hurt you!”
But Mei-Xing could see that he did not believe his own words. “She lied, Su-Chong. And you must ask yourself how I came to be here. Like this.” Mei-Xing gazed into his eyes, willing him to understand what she was telling him.
They stared at each other for a long moment until Mei-Xing gestured toward Rose. “This woman has loved me like a daughter. She has given me hope that I can live again . . . without shame. Please do not hurt her, Su-Chong. For the sake of the love we once shared, do not harm her.”
Su-Chong glanced down and saw the woman whose life he threatened. Rose gazed unblinking at him, pain in her eyes but also calm.
Morgan scrabbled at him. “Go! Get me out of here! Go, you fool!”
Instead, Su-Chong looked from Mei-Xing to Morgan in wonder. “Is this woman your ‘Little Plum Blossom’? Is she the woman who escaped from your high-class whorehouse?”
Su-Chong saw the truth on Morgan’s face. He dropped Rose and grabbed Morgan by the throat. His fingers squeezed without mercy and Morgan’s eyes bulged—and then Mei-Xing’s delicate fingers were touching his arm, her eyes begging him.
O’Dell, Groman, and Groman’s men pulled Mei-Xing back and wrestled Su-Chong and Morgan to the ground. Su-Chong did not resist, and he said nothing. He only turned sad eyes upon Mei-Xing as they handcuffed him and Morgan and dragged them away.
Rose, rubbing her neck, drew close to Mei-Xing. They watched together as the marshals and the Pinkertons rounded up Banner’s remaining men. Rose put a tentative arm around Mei-Xing’s shoulders. The girl collapsed in Rose’s arms, sobbing.
~~**~~
