Chapter 12 - They Set Fire to the Last Thing My Father Built
The smoke was visible before I reached the gate.
Black.
Thick.
Rising above the marsh.
Fire engines blocked the driveway.
Sheriff's deputies directed traffic away from the property.
I parked on the shoulder and ran.
A deputy stopped me.
"Sir, stay behind the line."
"That's my family's property."
"Then you especially need to stay back."
I looked toward the boathouse.
Flames climbed through the roof.
The weathered cedar siding had turned black.
One wall had partially collapsed.
My father built that place the summer before he got sick.
I remembered carrying boards for him.
Holding nails.
Pretending I was helping more than I actually was.
Now I stood helpless while it burned.
Louisa Harper sat on the back bumper of an ambulance.
Her face was pale.
I hurried toward her.
"Are you hurt?"
She shook her head.
"Smoke got in my eyes."
I crouched beside her.
"You scared me."
She touched my arm.
"They took the box."
I looked toward the fire.
"The filing box?"
She nodded.
"One man carried it toward the truck. Then the other went back inside."
"What happened?"
"I saw smoke. I started shouting. They drove away."
"Did you see the plate?"
"Part of it."
She handed me her phone.
Of course she had taken pictures.
Louisa Harper was apparently the most effective private investigator in South Carolina.
The photograph showed a white pickup.
Partial license plate.
A man carrying a rectangular metal case.
His face was turned away.
Another image showed the truck leaving through the gate.
I forwarded everything to Detective Park.
The fire department later determined there was evidence of an intentionally set fire.
Investigators collected samples and documented the scene.
Nobody allowed us near the burned structure.
I stayed until sunset.
When the fire crews finally left, the boathouse was a blackened shell.
Claire arrived with food.
I couldn't eat.
She stood beside me.
"Dad would be furious."
I nodded.
"Yes."
"Then he'd tell us to stop standing here and do something useful."
I almost smiled.
"He would."
She looked toward the water.
"You know the county has copies of some of those old documents."
"Rebecca's checking."
"And we photographed part of the folder."
"Yes."
"So whoever burned the boathouse didn't erase everything."
I breathed slowly.
That mattered.
A building could burn.
Records could be copied.
Truth didn't have to disappear with the paper.
Mom heard about the fire that evening.
I wanted to keep it from her until I knew more.
But she saw the news alert on Claire's phone.
"Willow Point?"
I sat beside her.
"Yes."
She stared.
"Is the house gone?"
"No."
"The dock?"
"Still there."
She closed her eyes.
"The boathouse?"
I shook my head.
Her face crumpled.
"Dad built that."
"I know."
"He worked so hard."
"I know."
She started crying.
I held her.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then she pulled away.
"Andrew."
"Yeah?"
"Don't let them make you angry enough to do something foolish."
I almost laughed.
That was exactly what she would say.
"They set fire to Dad's boathouse."
"I know."
"They tried to take your land."
"I know."
"They hurt you."
She nodded.
"But your father didn't teach you to solve problems by becoming the kind of man who causes them."
I looked at her.
Even after everything, she was still teaching me.
That evening, Detective Park called.
The partial plate had led investigators to a truck leased by one of Landon's contractors.
The company acknowledged the lease but claimed not to know who had driven it that afternoon.
Park wasn't satisfied.
Neither was I.
Then the investigator delivered better news.
"We recovered security footage from a nearby business."
"Can you identify them?"
"We have a lead."
"Who?"
"One man appears to be an employee of Harborline Development."
My pulse quickened.
"And the box?"
"Still missing."
I looked toward the window.
"What's next?"
"We follow the evidence."
I smiled bitterly.
Everyone's favorite answer.
The next day, I met Rebecca at the county records office.
We reviewed old restrictions, easements, plats and recorded property instruments.
Some documents existed in digital archives.
Others remained on microfilm.
One historical survey had been misindexed years earlier.
Rebecca's land-use specialist found it.
The document showed that part of Willow Point's shoreline had been subject to a conservation restriction.
It had been recorded decades before Landon submitted his marina plans.
Dad hadn't simply kept personal notes.
He had made sure part of the marsh would remain protected.
We arranged certified copies.
The burned boathouse couldn't erase that.
Then Mason called.
"Andrew, I found something in the bridge-loan records."
"What?"
"Your wife used part of the proceeds to pay a private lender associated with Landon's development group."
"How much?"
"Nearly three hundred thousand."
"What for?"
"An obligation that became due if the marina transaction failed to close."
I frowned.
"Meaning?"
"Your wife and her brother were already facing a serious cash shortfall. The Willow Point purchase was supposed to solve it."
I looked toward Rebecca.
"They needed the deal."
"Yes."
"Not just wanted it."
"Correct."
I thought about Sloane's desperation.
The guardianship petition.
The medication.
The forged documents.
The attempted transfer.
The fire.
Every escalation followed a deadline.
Every act became more reckless as the sale slipped away.
Then my phone rang.
Sloane.
I almost ignored it.
Instead, I answered on speaker with Rebecca beside me.
"What?"
Her voice sounded exhausted.
"Andrew, we need to stop this."
I stared.
"You could have stopped at any point."
"I know."
That surprised me.
She continued.
"Landon is losing control."
My stomach tightened.
"Where is he?"
"I don't know."
"Was he involved in the boathouse fire?"
Silence.
"Sloane."
"I didn't know he was going to do that."
Rebecca began making notes.
I kept my voice steady.
"Then you know he did."
Sloane started crying.
"Andrew, please."
"Where's the box?"
"What box?"
"The one his men took."
She hesitated.
"There's something you need to understand."
"I'm listening."
"Your father left documents that could stop the marina."
"I know."
"No."
Her voice dropped.
"Not just stop it."
I stared.
"What do you mean?"
"Landon told the investors the entire shoreline was available for development."
"And?"
"If the restrictions become public before closing, they won't just cancel the deal."
She swallowed.
"They'll come after him for the money."
I looked at Rebecca.
Sloane whispered:
"And he doesn't have it anymore."
The line went dead.
For the first time, I understood why Landon had become desperate enough to burn evidence.
He wasn't simply trying to make millions.
May you like
He was trying to hide a financial disaster that was already collapsing around him.
And he had used my mother's life as the thing he was willing to sacrifice to escape it.
