Chapter 8 - The Woman in the Burning Office
The person inside Randolph Howerin’s office was his assistant.
Claire Benton.
Thirty-eight.
Mother of two.
Unconscious beneath a desk.
Delaney found her first.
Smoke burned Delaney’s throat.
Allesio wrapped his jacket around Claire’s upper body and lifted her.
“Move.”
They made it into the hallway seconds before firefighters arrived.
Delaney collapsed against the wall coughing.
Allesio crouched in front of her.
“What part of ‘stay here’ is confusing?”
“The stay part.”
“You ran into a burning room.”
“So did you.”
“Because you did.”
“Then we’re both stupid.”
His hands framed her face.
“You could have died.”
The fear in his voice silenced her.
Not anger.
Fear.
She touched his wrist.
“But I didn’t.”
“That is not a strategy.”
Claire survived.
More importantly, when she woke six hours later, she told Detective Ortiz the fire was deliberate.
Randolph had ordered her upstairs during the gala.
He told her to remove a black phone and a set of ledgers from the safe.
She refused.
Then Dennis Kroll arrived.
The same man who had broken into Delaney’s home.
Kroll struck Claire.
Started the fire.
Took the phone.
“What did Randolph want destroyed?” Ortiz asked.
Claire looked through the hospital window.
“Transfers.”
“To North Vale?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
Claire hesitated.
“A list.”
“What list?”
“Families.”
Delaney stood beside Ortiz.
“What families?”
Claire looked at her.
“Children denied foundation assistance.”
Delaney’s stomach turned.
“Why keep a list?”
“Because many later received care from hospitals Howerin Development bought debt from.”
Ortiz frowned.
“Explain.”
Claire began crying.
The scheme was worse than theft.
The foundation collected donations to help low-income children.
Then it quietly denied assistance.
Families accumulated medical debt.
A separate Howerin company purchased that debt cheaply.
The company pressured families into payment plans, property liens, and in some cases foreclosure.
Howerin profited twice.
From donations.
Then desperation.
Delaney thought of Juny.
Her mother’s bills.
The brown envelope.
“How long?”
“Almost twelve years.”
“Was my family included?”
Claire looked at her.
“I saw Elaine Shaw’s name.”
Allesio became still.
“What?”
Claire continued.
“After Elaine found the transfers, Randolph had her medical debt purchased.”
Delaney stared.
“He owned my mother’s debt?”
“Yes.”
“That’s why the collectors never stopped.”
Claire nodded.
“He used it as pressure.”
Delaney sat down.
Everything connected.
Her mother’s illness.
The endless invoices.
Calvin.
The withdrawn complaint.
The foundation.
Randolph had not merely stolen charity money.
He had turned suffering into an investment model.
Allesio looked ready to kill him.
Delaney saw it.
She grabbed his hand.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“Not him.”
She squeezed.
“No.”
His breathing slowed.
“All right.”
Claire gave investigators access to a cloud backup.
Randolph had forgotten she maintained one.
By morning, the financial case exploded.
Federal investigators joined.
Accounts froze.
Howerin Development stock collapsed.
Board members resigned.
Donors demanded answers.
Randolph disappeared.
His jet remained grounded.
His passport was flagged.
But his car vanished from the hotel garage during the fire.
Bryce sat in the hospital cafeteria.
He looked ten years older than a week earlier.
“He used me.”
Delaney sat opposite him.
“Yes.”
Bryce looked up.
“You didn’t even pretend.”
“You asked.”
“He raised me to think everyone outside our family wanted something.”
“Did you believe him?”
“Yes.”
“That’s probably why you treated people like they weren’t real.”
Bryce flinched.
“I deserve that.”
“Probably.”
He laughed bitterly.
“You really don’t make forgiveness easy.”
“It shouldn’t be easy.”
He nodded.
“What happens to me?”
“That depends what you do next.”
“My friends stopped calling.”
“You publicly humiliated a waitress and helped expose your father’s criminal organization. Your social calendar may be unstable.”
He almost smiled.
Then his face became serious.
“I know where he might be.”
Allesio approached.
“Where?”
Bryce looked at him.
“My grandfather had a hunting cabin near Blackwater.”
Ortiz arrived ten minutes later.
State police moved.
They found the cabin empty.
But Randolph had been there.
Food warm.
Fire burning.
A map on the table.
One location circled.
St. Catherine’s Children’s Hospital.
The hospital where Juny’s surgery was scheduled.
Delaney’s blood froze.
“Why?”
Ortiz looked at the map.
“We don’t know.”
Allesio already did.
“He wants leverage.”
Delaney’s phone rang.
Hospital administration.
She answered.
“Ms. Shaw?”
“Yes.”
“This is Dr. Ragavan’s office.”
Her hand tightened.
“What happened?”
“Your sister collapsed during school.”
The world stopped.
“She’s being transported now.”
Delaney stood.
“What?”
“Her cardiac rhythm became unstable.”
“When?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
“I’m coming.”
She ended the call.
Allesio took her coat.
“Car.”
Ortiz grabbed his arm.
“You do not turn the hospital into a fortress.”
He looked at her.
“If Howerin is targeting Juny—”
“I’ll put officers there.”
“I’ll put my people there too.”
“You will coordinate with me.”
“No.”
“Corsetti.”
Delaney shouted, “Enough!”
Both stopped.
She looked from one to the other.
“My sister is in an ambulance.”
Silence.
“I do not care which one of you has the bigger security plan.”
Her voice cracked.
“Get me to her.”
Everything else disappeared.
The investigation.
Randolph.
The files.
Even Allesio.
For the next twenty minutes, Delaney was only a sister.
At St. Catherine’s, Dr. Ragavan met her.
“She’s stable.”
Delaney nearly fell.
“But?”
He hesitated.
“We cannot wait four months anymore.”
“How long?”
“A week.”
Delaney stared.
“We need to operate within seven days.”
Her heart sank.
“The deposit—”
“Forget the deposit.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“The hospital board approved emergency charity coverage this morning.”
“Why?”
Dr. Ragavan smiled faintly.
“Because somebody anonymous donated six million dollars to replenish the pediatric fund.”
Delaney slowly turned toward Allesio.
He raised both hands.
“Not me.”
She stared.
“Then who?”
A nurse approached holding an envelope.
“This was left for you.”
Delaney opened it.
Inside was a cashier’s receipt.
Six million dollars.
And a handwritten note.
My father stole more than this from children.
It belongs back where he took it from.
— Bryce
Delaney looked toward the corridor.
Bryce was gone.
For the first time, she wondered whether a spoiled rich kid could become something else.
May you like
Not because someone forgave him.
Because he finally chose to change.
