Chapter 7
The private study in Ethan’s penthouse was dimly lit, illuminated only by the glow of three large computer monitors and the sprawling city lights outside the window.
The structural design matched the rest of the penthouse—sleek black marble floors and heavy soundproof glass.
Sitting at the desk was Elias Thorne.
Elias wasn’t a corporate man. He wore a rumpled trench coat, had a permanent shadow of a beard, and was the most expensive, ruthless private investigator in the city. Ethan kept him on retainer for corporate espionage.
Tonight, the mission was deeply personal.
“I need you to look at this,” Ethan said, sliding a copy of the police report Marcus had shown the board. “The fire from twenty-four years ago. The East End apartments.”
Elias picked up the paper, his eyes scanning the faded text.
“Marcus Vance brought this up?” Elias asked, his voice raspy.
“Yes. He claims my mother was a suspect. That she was a drunk who started the fire. Both are lies.” Ethan paced across the marble floor, his reflection mirroring his agitation. “Elias, my mother didn’t drink. She worked three jobs. We couldn’t afford whiskey, let alone leave a bottle lying around to start a fire.”
Elias pulled a specialized magnifying tool from his pocket and inspected the printed signature at the bottom of the report.
“Detective Robert Willis,” Elias read aloud. “He was the lead investigator on the East End fire. But look here, Ethan. Look at the date the report was filed.”
Ethan stopped pacing and leaned over the desk.
“November 14th,” Ethan read.
“The fire happened on November 12th,” Elias pointed out, tapping the paper. “A two-day turnaround for a full arson investigation? In the poorest district of the city? That’s impossible. Back then, it took weeks to get a forensics team out to the slums.”
Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “Someone rushed it. Someone paid to have the case closed quickly.”
“Exactly,” Elias agreed, turning to his computer and typing rapidly. Code and databases flashed across the screen. “So the question isn’t how the fire started. The question is who benefited from that apartment building burning down to the ashes?”
For ten minutes, the only sound in the room was the frantic clicking of Elias’s keyboard.
Ethan stood perfectly still, his heart pounding against his ribs. Every memory of that night—the choking smoke, the screaming, the searing heat on his skin—rushed back to him.
“Got it,” Elias suddenly said, his voice dropping an octave.
He pulled up a digital property deed on the center monitor.
“The East End apartment building was condemned after the fire. Three months later, the land was purchased for pennies by a shell corporation called Vanguard Holdings.”
“Vanguard?” Ethan frowned. “I don’t know them.”
“You should,” Elias said, looking up at Ethan with a grim expression. “Because Vanguard Holdings was absorbed ten years ago by its parent company.”
Elias clicked another button. A familiar logo filled the screen.
The golden 'V' of Valeon Financial Group.
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Ethan felt the air leave his lungs. The very ground this financial empire was built upon—the company he now controlled—was bought with the ashes of his childhood home.
And whoever ordered that fire was likely sitting in the boardroom right beneath his feet.
