725 Ashes of Deception: The Corporate Web, the Family Betrayal, and the Pier at Midnight

"Back door! Cover the back perimeter!" Reyes shouted, spinning on his heel and bolting toward the kitchen with his partner right behind him.

I didn't follow them toward the back. I sprinted toward the side patio door that looked out over the garage roof.

Pushing the glass door open, the crisp morning air hit my face as I looked up. Scrambling across the wet asphalt shingles, slipping on the morning dew in a pair of expensive designer sneakers, was my brother Miles. He was wearing a rumpled hoodie, clutching a bulging black leather duffel bag against his chest like a shield.

"Miles! Stop right there!" I yelled, stepping out onto the patio.

Miles froze, turning his head back. His face was slick with sweat, his eyes wide and bloodshot, looking like a cornered animal.

"Claire? What the hell are you doing?" Miles screeched, his voice cracking with panic. "Tell these cops to get out of our house!"

"Drop the bag, Miles!" shouted a local detective, bursting out of the side kitchen door with his service weapon drawn and pointed at the roof. "Do not move!"

Miles panicked. Instead of dropping the bag, he tried to leap from the edge of the garage roof down onto the soft mulch of the garden bed below—a drop of nearly twelve feet.

It was a stupid, desperate move.

His sneakers hit the wet mulch at an awkward angle, his ankle buckled with a sickening crack, and he went down hard, sprawling face-first into the dirt. The heavy leather duffel bag flew from his grasp, bursting open upon impact.

Papers, cash, and small velvet jewelry boxes spilled out across the wet grass like colorful confetti.

I walked slowly out onto the lawn, looking down at the scattered contents. There were stacks of hundred-dollar bills wrapped in rubber bands, several gold watches belonging to my late grandmother, and right in the center, resting on top of a charred metal lockbox, was my grandmother’s vintage emerald ring.

Miles groaned in agony, clutching his broken ankle while writhing in the mud.

Reyes jogged around the corner of the house, stopping to look at the scattered loot, then looking down at Miles, and finally turning his gaze to me.

"Well," Reyes said quietly, pulling out a pair of steel handcuffs. "It looks like your family drama just solved our arson case."

My father stumbled out onto the back patio behind us, staring down at the emerald ring and the cash with a look of absolute, shattered horror. "Oh, God," he whispered, falling to his knees on the patio stones. "Emma... what has she done?"

Before anyone could answer, the back screen door slammed shut with a sharp bang.

We all turned.

My mother was standing on the back porch. She wasn't panicking. She wasn't crying. She stood completely upright, holding a sleek black smartphone to her ear, her face locked in a mask of absolute, chilling defiance.

"Don't bother looking at me like that, Arthur," my mother said coldly into the phone, her eyes fixed entirely on me. "It's already done."

"Mom, who are you calling?" I demanded, taking a step toward the porch.