Chapter 8 - The Arsonist
The entire living room floor was soaked in clear, highly flammable gasoline.
Before I could shout a warning to the troopers outside, the front door violently slammed shut.
A man stepped out from the deep shadows of the kitchen, holding a simple silver lighter.
It was Thomas, the quiet, completely overlooked financial manager of the Whitman family company.
"I cannot let you submit that phone to the federal authorities, Nora," Thomas said with a trembling voice.
He flicked the lighter open, creating a small, terrifying flame in the dark room.
"Thomas, the FBI already has all the files, burning this house will not save you," I lied confidently.
Thomas shook his head, sweat pouring profusely down his pale and desperate face.
"Ethan told me you were bluffing, he said you only had the physical phone," Thomas stammered.
I slowly pushed Maya behind my back, shielding her from the incredibly unstable man.
"Ethan is currently sitting in a federal holding cell, Thomas, he lied to you to save himself," I reasoned.
Thomas took a step forward, his hand shaking so violently the flame danced dangerously close to the soaked carpet.
"If I don't destroy the evidence, the people we owe money to will kill my entire family," he cried.
I realized then that the Ponzi scheme had stolen money from some very dangerous, violent people.
"I can help you get federal protection, but you have to put the lighter down right now," I offered softly.
Thomas closed his eyes and let out a broken, entirely hopeless sob.
"It is already way too late for me," he whispered in total defeat.
He tossed the open lighter directly onto the gasoline-soaked living room rug.
The room erupted into a massive wall of blinding orange flames in a fraction of a second.
I grabbed Maya's hand and pulled her desperately toward the rear kitchen door.
The intense heat was agonizing, singing the edges of my hair as we ran through the inferno.
Thomas simply stood in the center of the living room, allowing the fire to consume him entirely.
We burst through the back door into the cool night air, coughing violently from the thick black smoke.
The state troopers rushed into the backyard, pulling us safely away from the blazing structure.
We sat on the wet grass, watching my beautiful, modest house burn completely to the ground.
Everything I owned was gone, but my precious daughter was finally safe by my side.
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Suddenly, Marcus walked over to us with a grim and completely serious expression on his face.
"Nora, I just reviewed the names of the specific investors the Whitmans stole from," Marcus said quietly.
