Chapter 6 - OUT OF THE ASHES
The staircase erupted into a wall of roaring, orange flame. The heat was instantaneous, a physical force that punched the air right out of Claire’s lungs.
“Claire, move!” Daniel roared. He slammed the lockbox shut, grabbed it by the handle, and threw his massive arm around her waist, dragging her toward the back of the basement.
The fire was spreading fast, feeding on the dry rot of the wooden beams overhead. Smoke thickened, stinging their eyes and choking their throats. They were trapped. The only exit was the burning stairs.
“The ventilation shaft!” Daniel yelled over the roar of the fire.
He pointed to a small, iron-grated square near the ceiling at the back wall. Daniel didn't hesitate. Adrenaline and the desperate need to protect his wife gave him terrifying strength. He grabbed a rusted steel pipe from the floor, swung it like a baseball bat, and smashed the iron grate. It groaned but held. He swung again, tearing his shoulder muscles, until the grate snapped off.
“Climb!” he ordered, lifting Claire off the ground. She scrambled into the narrow, dirty shaft, coughing violently. Daniel shoved the metal lockbox in after her, then hoisted his own massive frame into the tight space just as the basement ceiling began to collapse in a shower of sparks.
They crawled blindly through the ash and soot, bursting out onto the muddy alleyway behind the store just as the front of the building exploded.
They lay in the mud, gasping for air, the rain washing the soot from their faces. Claire clutched the lockbox to her chest. They were alive. They had the proof.
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder until red and blue lights cut through the rain. Police cruisers and firetrucks swarmed the alley.
“Over here!” Daniel yelled, waving his arm.
But the police didn't come with blankets. They came with drawn weapons.
Robert Hale stepped out from behind a police cruiser, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at Daniel. “That’s him, officers. He set the fire to destroy the evidence of his embezzlement.”
Two officers tackled Daniel to the mud, wrenching his arms behind his back.
“No!” Claire screamed, clutching the lockbox. “He’s lying! Daniel is innocent!”
“He’s unstable, Mrs. Mercer,” Robert said to the police, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. “He’s been stealing from Mercer Aerospace for years. I have the signed confessions in my briefcase.”
As the police yanked Daniel to his feet, he locked eyes with Claire. He didn't fight them. Instead, he purposely stumbled toward her, bumping his shoulder against hers. In that split second, he slipped something small and hard into her coat pocket.
“I love you,” Daniel shouted as they shoved him into the back of the cruiser. “Protect the kids!”
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The police cars sped away, leaving Claire alone in the rain with Robert Hale grinning at her.
Claire shoved her hand into her pocket. She pulled out the object Daniel had slipped her. It was a scorched, half-melted photograph. A picture of Daniel, Walter, and Robert standing outside a bank fifteen years ago. And circled in the corner, in blue ink, was a safety deposit box key.
