Kat shivered and pulled the wool blanket tight around her shoulders. She sat on her front steps, listening to the water drip down the eaves troughs. The rain had abated, and the fire was out. She coughed in spasms, a result of the smoke inhalation. Harry sat beside her and nodded his head while the fire chief chastised her for going into the house. One by one, neighbors returned to their houses and extinguished their lights, relieved the fire hadn’t spread.
Jace trudged across the lawn, past a pair of firefighters busily packing up their equipment. His right hand and arm were bandaged and wrapped in white gauze. He had smashed the living room window and jumped through it into the front yard. Kat rose and descended the stairs to meet him.
She hugged him, grateful he had escaped the fire. “Don’t ever do that again, Jace. I thought you died in there.”
He pulled back to study her. His eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t have gone back in. I can take care of myself.”
Kat disagreed but didn’t say anything. She was just relieved he wasn’t more seriously injured. She locked her arm in his un-bandaged one. Together they climbed the stairs to the front door. She stood just outside and peered into the front hall.
“Why would someone do this?” Kat studied the smoldering remains of the Molotov cocktail. It appeared homemade, a blackened rag still sticking out of the broken wine bottle’s neck.
Jace didn’t answer. He squatted down and studied the damaged floor.
A burnt black circle was all that remained of the antique British India rug. It had been as old as the house. The stairway banister and hallway wainscoting were blackened and charred, and the floorboards Jace had so painstakingly restored now sat under puddles of water. The firefighters had quickly extinguished the blaze, but the damage was done.
“I don’t know.” Jace stood and turned to her. “Maybe it’s a case of mistaken identity. They hit the wrong house.”
“Most of our neighbors are over seventy, Jace. I can’t imagine them as targets for anything.” The pensioners in their Queens Park neighborhood did mocktails, not Molotov cocktails.
“Someone’s got it in for you guys.” Harry came up behind them. He peered inside at the mess. “Maybe I shouldn’t stay.”
“What’s this?” Jace poked at a metal canister with the toe of his boot. It lay partially hidden under the hallway armoire, unnoticed by the arson investigators. He bent down and picked it up. He unscrewed the lid and pulled out a scrap of paper.
“What is it?” Kat asked. “Maybe you should leave it there.”
Jace ignored her. His face darkened as he read it, then shoved the paper in his pocket.
“Let me see that.” Kat held out her hand.
Jace shook his head. “It’s nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing?” The metal canister must have been inside the Molotov cocktail. “I live here too. I want to know what it says.”
Jace shrugged and pulled the paper from his pocket. He handed it to her.
Kat read the typewritten note. Stop the story. “So it is about your article. But didn’t the Sentinel pull it?”
“They did.”
“Is there another story I don’t know about?” Kat shivered as she handed the note back. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
“No, that’s the only one I was working on. But it didn’t go to press. No one even knows about it.”
“No one except people at the Sentinel. The same people who fired you.”
“You think someone at the newspaper firebombed us? That’s crazy, Kat.”
“Maybe it’s not the Sentinel. Somebody could have leaked your story. To the people you’re accusing, maybe?”
“Why would they do that?” Jace glanced at the paper before stuffing it in his pocket.
“Who knows? Maybe the same reason your story got pulled. That still means the Sentinel is connected to your story somehow. They must figure you’re going to publish the article anyway.”
“You know, that’s actually not a bad idea. The Sentinel’s not the only game in town.”
“It’s not worth it, Jace.”
“Why not? I’ll sell the story to someone else. There’s obviously more to it, and they’re not going to muzzle me. Maybe I should dig a bit deeper and see where it goes.”
“And be targeted again?” Kat wished she’d never mentioned it. Jace was like a bloodhound on a scent. He’d never stop until he found out who was behind the firebombing.
“Whoever it is has to be stopped, Kat. Especially violent attacks like this. If I don’t stop them, what’s next? Will everything controversial be stifled? This is how oppression starts.”
Kat sighed. She wanted to know who was behind the attack too, and she wanted justice. But sometimes it was better to let sleeping dogs lie. It was something she’d learned growing up in the Denton household.
She certainly didn’t feel like arguing after everything that had happened. She changed the subject. “Did you find out anything about Edgewater’s auditors last night while I was at their offices?”
“Matter of fact, I did,” Jace said. “Beecham & Company is a registered company, even if it does operate out of a vacant lot.”
At least that was progress. Fire or no fire, she still had a job to do.
“So it does actually exist.”
“Beecham exists alright, but in name only. It’s owned by a holding company. Which in turn is owned by Nathan Barron.”
Kat’s worst fears were confirmed. “That explains why the auditors didn’t pick up on the fraud. There are no auditors. It’s all a sham.”
Of course Nathan Barron couldn’t risk a legitimate auditor uncovering his fraud. But with billions at stake, why hadn’t he covered his tracks better? An address at a vacant lot and a disconnected phone number was just plain sloppy.
“Don’t millionaire investors check these sorts of things out more than the average person?” Jace asked.
“You would think so, but with twelve percent returns year in and year out, maybe not. Zachary tells me investors are practically tripping over each other to invest in the fund. And another thing—someone else in Edgewater’s records has the same address as Beecham.”
“Really? Who?”
“Fredrick Svensson. I need you to help me find out what they’re paying him for.” That, and how on earth Zachary could trade with no money. Something didn’t pass the smell test.