Chapter 9 - The Empty Safe
The acrid smell of burnt wool and chemical accelerant filled the study, stinging my eyes as I stared into the dark, yawning metal cavity of the empty wall safe.
“They beat us to it,” Samuel said, coughing as he waved a hand through the lingering gray smoke. He walked over to the desk, inspecting the fresh gouge marks around the electronic keypad. “Justin didn't just send a message; he sent a professional cleaner to strip the primary evidence before the noon injunction could take effect.”
I knelt down on the charred rug, running my fingers along the scorched wooden floorboards beside the safe. My eyes caught a tiny glint of silver near the baseboard—a small, magnetized data-scraping drive that had slipped from the thief’s pocket in their rush to escape through the French doors leading out to the rose garden.
I picked it up, slipping it quickly into my coat pocket just as heavy footsteps echoed loudly from the hallway behind us.
“Don't move!” a harsh voice shouted.
We spun around. Standing in the doorway of the study were two local police officers with their service weapons drawn, flanked by a furious-looking property manager whom Justin had hired the week before.
“There they are!” the property manager yelled, pointing directly at us. “They broke into the estate! They’re the ones vandalizing the master study and trying to burn the building down!”
“Hold your fire, officer,” Samuel commanded immediately, stepping forward and flashing his state bar credentials with practiced ease. “I am Samuel Bennett, legal counsel and executor of the Christopher estate. This woman is the legal owner of this property under the addendum filed at 9:00 AM today.”
The younger of the two police officers lowered his weapon slightly, looking confused as he glanced from Samuel’s badge to my soot-stained coat. “Counselor... dispatch received an anonymous call reporting an active burglary and arson in progress at this address. The caller explicitly stated that a former disgruntled employee was attempting to destroy the estate records.”
“The caller was Justin Christopher,” I said, standing up tall, my voice cutting cleanly through the smoke-filled room. “And the only thing being destroyed here is his attempt to cover up a twelve-million-dollar mortgage fraud.”
The officer hesitated, looking down at the scorched drapes and the open, empty safe. “Ma’am, with all due respect, you need to come down to the precinct for questioning regarding this disturbance.”
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“I’ll go,” I said calmly, pulling the small magnetized data drive from my pocket and holding it up between my fingers. “As soon as I plug this drive into the estate’s secondary terminal and show you what Justin’s cleaner dropped on the floor.”
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