Chapter 5 - THE DESPERATE COUNTER-STRIKE “She lost her money, her status, and her freedom... so she decided to burn the hotel down!”
The news of Vanessa’s arrest hit the evening broadcasts like a bomb. Photos of her being led out of the Grand Halcyon in handcuffs with her hands covering her face were trending across every major news platform.
Dad was released after six hours of questioning; the investigators concluded he was merely incompetent and hopelessly naive, not a co-conspirator.
At 11:00 p.m., I was alone in the executive office, sifting through the remaining financial records, when the building's emergency lights suddenly flickered and turned crimson.
WAIIL! WAIL! WAIL!
The fire alarm roared through the corridors.
I stood up instantly, grabbing my coat. Before I could reach the door, it flew open.
Standing in the doorway was not a firefighter, but Vanessa’s brother, Julian—a disgraced former contractor who had handled the hotel's recent kitchen renovations. He was holding a reeking, yellow plastic jerrycan of industrial accelerant.
"You ruined her life, Claire," Julian hissed, his eyes bloodshot and unhinged. "You think you can just take everything back? If Vanessa can't have this hotel, nobody will!"
He sloshed gasoline across the carpet of the reception area and pulled a heavy brass lighter from his pocket.
"Julian, stop!" I snapped, keeping my voice firm and stepping slowly around the mahogany desk. "The building is equipped with a dry-chemical suppression system installed last month. The moment a flame sparks, this room will seal automatically and starve the air of oxygen. You’ll suffocate before the fire even reaches the hallway!"
He hesitated, his thumb trembling over the lighter’s striker wheel. "You're lying!"
"Try it," I challenged, holding his gaze without flinching. "Your sister is sitting in a cell facing fifteen years. If you strike that match, you're looking at attempted murder and arson. Is her scam worth your life?"
Sirens blared outside down the avenue, drawing closer.
Julian looked down at the lighter, then at the gasoline pooling at his boots. Panic overwhelmed his revenge fantasy. He dropped the lighter, turned, and bolted down the emergency stairwell.
May you like
I didn't run after him. I calmly hit the red emergency button beneath my desk, locking down the stairwell exit doors.
Three minutes later, the police apprehended him in the basement level, trapped like a rat.
