Chapter 7
The fire spread faster than I thought possible.
Dad grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the front door.
“Outside!”
“But—”
“Now!”
Trey was already on the phone with emergency services.
We ran into the yard.
Neighbors started coming outside as black smoke rolled from a shattered kitchen window.
Dad moved toward the side gate.
I grabbed him.
“What are you doing?”
“Making sure nobody is back there.”
“No!”
Sirens were already approaching.
Mr. Harper from across the street stopped Dad.
“Don't go in.”
“There could be someone—”
“You'll get yourself killed.”
Firefighters arrived within minutes.
They moved fast.
Hoses.
Masks.
Commands.
We stood across the street while water blasted through the kitchen window.
I was shaking so badly that Trey gave me his sweatshirt.
I almost refused it.
Then I realized I was still wearing a thin T-shirt.
Dad called Rachel.
Then Officer Ramirez.
Then the investigator.
Everyone suddenly wanted to know everything.
When the fire was under control, an investigator from the fire department spoke to Dad.
“Was anyone inside?”
“No.”
“Any known electrical issues?”
“No.”
“Gas appliances?”
“Yes, but we haven't had problems.”
“Any reason someone would intentionally damage the property?”
Dad looked at me.
Then at Trey.
“Yes.”
That answer changed everything.
Police taped off the backyard.
A neighbor's doorbell camera showed a dark pickup passing our house twice within thirty minutes before the fire.
Rick drove a dark pickup.
But the footage was too blurry to identify the plate.
The fire investigator eventually said the origin appeared to be near the back window, not the stove.
A broken bottle had been found outside.
Dad's face turned hard.
“Someone tried to burn our house.”
The investigator wouldn't confirm it yet.
But we all knew what he was thinking.
Dad and I couldn't stay there that night.
The kitchen was badly damaged.
Smoke had spread through half the first floor.
We checked into a hotel.
At midnight, I sat on the edge of the bed while Dad made phone calls.
Insurance.
Police.
Attorney.
Bank.
I stared at my hands.
My college money had been stolen.
My identity had been used.
A fake business had been opened.
Now our house had been set on fire.
All because I checked my savings account after school.
Dad finally sat beside me.
“You need sleep.”
“So do you.”
“I'll sleep later.”
“You keep saying that.”
He looked at me.
“I don't know how to stop moving.”
I understood.
If we stopped, everything caught up.
There was a knock at the door.
Dad immediately stood.
“Who is it?”
“It's me,” Trey said.
Dad opened the door a few inches.
“What?”
“I got another message.”
Dad let him in.
Trey handed over his phone.
Unknown number.
You should have kept your mouth shut.
Below it was a photo.
Our burning kitchen.
Taken from somewhere behind the house.
Dad went completely still.
“When did this come?”
“Three minutes ago.”
“Send it to the investigator.”
“I already did.”
I stared at Trey.
“You think Rick did it?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
He sat in the chair near the window.
“Because I've seen him do stuff like this.”
Dad's eyes narrowed.
“Explain.”
Trey rubbed his hands together.
“When I was fourteen, one of his neighbors threatened to report him for running an illegal repair business out of the garage.”
“And?”
“A week later, somebody smashed all the guy's windows.”
“Did Rick do it?”
“He never admitted it.”
“But you think he did.”
“Yes.”
I asked, “Why did your mom go back to him?”
Trey laughed bitterly.
“Because she's always gone back to him.”
Dad stared at him.
Trey realized what he had said.
“What do you mean always?” Dad asked.
“Dad—”
“Don't call me that right now. Answer.”
Trey looked down.
“Rick and Mom started talking again maybe two years ago.”
Dad sat slowly.
“Two years?”
“I don't know exactly.”
“Were they having an affair?”
“I don't know.”
“Trey.”
“I don't know!”
His voice cracked.
Then he lowered it.
“But probably.”
Dad looked away.
I saw the pain hit him.
Everything financial was already devastating.
This was personal.
This was the marriage itself.
Trey continued.
“She'd meet him sometimes.”
“Where?”
“Restaurants. His place. I don't know.”
“And you never told me.”
“She said they were talking because of me.”
Dad laughed.
“Of course she did.”
“I believed her.”
“Did you?”
Trey looked ashamed.
“At first.”
Dad stood and went to the window.
I hated watching him process it.
So I asked Trey, “Why did she need Rick?”
He looked at me.
“He knows how to make documents.”
My skin prickled.
“What documents?”
“IDs. Business forms. Applications.”
Dad turned.
“You knew that too?”
“I knew he did sketchy paperwork.”
“For who?”
“People.”
“What people?”
“I don't know.”
Dad looked ready to throw him out.
Then Trey said, “I can prove something.”
He opened his phone and pulled up an old conversation.
Messages from his mother.
One said:
Rick can get the company filing fixed. Don't worry about the girl. She doesn't pay attention to paperwork.
Another:
Once she's eighteen, we can say she approved everything herself.
My stomach twisted.
They had been waiting for my birthday.
I turned eighteen in four months.
“What were they planning after I turned eighteen?”
Trey shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Dad said, “You said they needed one more big job.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I heard Rick say they needed enough money to start over.”
“In Phoenix?”
“Maybe.”
Dad sat again.
“So they steal thirty thousand from an elderly couple, run it through Maya's fake company, and leave Texas.”
“That sounds like it.”
“And Maya is left holding the paperwork.”
Trey nodded.
I felt nauseated.
Dad called the investigator again.
This time, officers came to the hotel.
They photographed Trey's messages and took a formal statement.
The detective assigned to the financial side was named Daniel Brooks.
He spoke to me gently but directly.
“Maya, has anyone contacted you demanding money?”
“Rick texted me.”
“Any customers?”
“Not yet.”
“That may change.”
I didn't understand.
“Why?”
“If people paid a business registered under your name and don't receive services, they may search for the owner.”
My stomach dropped.
“They'll find me.”
“Possibly.”
“But I'm a kid.”
“You know that. We know that. They won't.”
Dad leaned forward.
“What do we do?”
Detective Brooks answered, “Do not respond directly. Forward everything to us and your attorney.”
Then he looked at Trey.
“Mr. Lawson, you mentioned your mother kept records.”
“The suitcase.”
“We have some records.”
“No.”
Trey shook his head.
“Different records.”
Dad stared at him.
“What different records?”
“Mom keeps a ledger.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“You just said she keeps one.”
“I saw it once.”
“What did it look like?”
“A black notebook.”
“What was inside?”
“Names. Amounts. Dates.”
Detective Brooks leaned forward.
“Whose names?”
“Customers, I think.”
“Anything else?”
Trey hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Dad's name.”
My father stiffened.
“What did it say next to my name?”
Trey looked at him.
“Two hundred fifty thousand.”
Dad went silent.
I whispered, “What?”
Trey swallowed.
“I don't know what it meant.”
Detective Brooks asked, “Did it look like money he owed?”
“No.”
“Money paid?”
“No.”
“What was the context?”
Trey thought.
“There were little notes.”
“What notes?”
“Things like policy, house, truck.”
Dad's face drained of color.
Rachel's words came back to me.
Life insurance.
Dad whispered, “My policy is two hundred fifty thousand dollars.”
Nobody moved.
Detective Brooks immediately asked, “Who is the beneficiary?”
Dad stared at the floor.
“Diane.”
The detective's expression didn't change.
But the room did.
I felt it.
A terrible idea had entered all our minds at once.
Dad shook his head.
“No.”
Detective Brooks said, “We're not drawing conclusions.”
“No. She steals money. She lies. Fine. But this?”
He looked at me.
“She wouldn't.”
I wanted to believe him.
Then I remembered our house burning.
The fake license.
The text threatening him.
I whispered, “Dad, change the beneficiary.”
He looked at me.
“I will.”
“Tonight.”
He nodded.
“Tonight.”
Trey stood.
“I need to go.”
Detective Brooks stopped him.
“Where?”
“My aunt's.”
“Don't contact your mother or Rick about this conversation.”
“I won't.”
He looked at me before leaving.
“Maya.”
I waited.
He struggled to speak.
“I didn't know they were going to put everything in your name.”
I stared at him.
“But you knew enough to stay quiet.”
His eyes dropped.
“Yes.”
I couldn't forgive him.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
He left.
Detective Brooks finished his questions and went downstairs.
Dad called his insurance company.
The representative said beneficiary changes required a signed form through the online portal.
Dad logged in.
Then stopped.
“What?”
He stared at the screen.
“My beneficiary was changed.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“To who?”
He turned the laptop toward me.
The listed beneficiary was still Diane.
But underneath it was a second beneficiary.
Contingent beneficiary: Richard Lawson.
Rick.
The change had been made three months earlier.
Dad whispered, “I never did this.”
I stared at the date.
Then at him.
That was when the fear finally became real.
May you like
This wasn't only about what Diane had stolen.
It was about what she might have been preparing to take next.
