PART 4 — THE FIRE THAT WAS MEANT TO ERASE EVERYTHING
Thomas Talbot walked toward my front door carrying a red gasoline can.
Greg followed two steps behind him.
Neither man looked afraid anymore.
That frightened me more than anything.
Emily slowly lowered the laptop screen.
Dana backed away from the window.
“Oh my God.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
She shook her head.
“Greg told me Talbot moved to Arizona.”
“Well,” Emily whispered, “apparently Arizona moved closer.”
The porch boards creaked beneath their feet.
Greg reached for the doorknob.
Locked.
He tried again.
Harder.
Then he pounded on the door.
“Mom!”
Nobody answered.
“Emily!”
Another pound.
“I know you’re in there.”
Emily grabbed her phone.
“I’m calling the police.”
Dana rushed toward her.
“No!”
Emily stared at her.
“No?”
“If Greg sees police coming, he’ll panic.”
“He is standing outside with gasoline.”
“I know.”
“Then panic seems to have already arrived.”
Greg hit the door again.
“Open it!”
Talbot said something through the glass.
I could not hear the words.
Then Greg shouted.
“We just need to talk.”
Emily almost laughed.
“You brought gasoline to a conversation?”
I whispered, “Call them.”
She dialed 911.
Dana closed her eyes.
Emily kept her voice low.
“My name is Emily Parker. Two men are outside my grandmother’s house. One of them is carrying gasoline. We believe they may be trying to destroy evidence.”
The dispatcher asked questions.
Emily answered quickly.
Address.
Number of people.
Whether they had weapons.
Emily looked through the window.
“I don’t see a gun.”
Greg suddenly stepped away from the porch.
He looked directly toward the kitchen window.
For one terrible second, our eyes met.
He saw me.
His face changed.
“Mom!”
He pointed toward the door.
“Let me in.”
I stood still.
“Please!”
That word again.
Please.
He had used it in Walter’s workshop.
Now he used it on my porch.
A frightened man’s word.
A trapped man’s word.
I walked toward the door.
Emily grabbed my arm.
“Grandma.”
“I’m not opening it.”
I stopped three feet away.
“Greg.”
He pressed both hands against the glass beside the door.
“Mom, Talbot came to explain.”
I looked at the gasoline can.
“With gasoline?”
Talbot lifted it.
“For my generator.”
Emily actually laughed.
“Your generator?”
Talbot pointed toward a dark sedan in the driveway.
“It was in my trunk.”
Greg nodded quickly.
“Exactly.”
I looked toward the sky.
Bright morning.
No storm.
No power outage.
No reason for anyone to carry gasoline into my yard.
“You both need to leave.”
Greg’s face hardened.
“Mom, this is bigger than you understand.”
“I understand eight hundred forty-three thousand dollars.”
Talbot froze.
Greg slowly turned toward him.
For the first time, I saw fear on Talbot’s face.
“How much did she see?” he asked.
Greg did not answer.
Emily stepped beside me.
“We saw enough.”
Talbot looked directly at her.
“So you’re Emily.”
“Yes.”
“I remember you.”
“I don’t remember you.”
“You were very young.”
“And apparently worth a lot of money.”
His jaw tightened.
Emily continued.
“Money you helped my father steal.”
Talbot shook his head.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“We have Walter’s files.”
Greg closed his eyes.
Talbot turned on him.
“You said he destroyed everything.”
“He was sick!”
“You told me there was nothing left.”
“I thought there wasn’t!”
That was all Emily needed.
Her phone was still connected to 911.
The dispatcher heard every word.
Emily lifted the phone slightly.
“Keep talking.”
Talbot noticed.
His face changed.
“Greg.”
“What?”
“She’s recording.”
Greg looked at Emily’s phone.
Then at me.
Then at the door.
“Open it.”
“No.”
“Open the damn door.”
“No.”
His fist hit the glass.
The pane rattled.
Dana screamed.
Emily stepped back.
Greg hit it again.
“STOP!” I shouted.
He froze.
I stared at my son through the glass.
“You pushed your father.”
Everything stopped.
Even Talbot.
Greg’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
I continued.
“We saw Walter’s video.”
His face emptied.
“We know what happened on the basement stairs.”
Dana covered her mouth.
Talbot stared at Greg.
“You told me he fell.”
Greg whispered, “He did.”
“You pushed him.”
“No.”
“Walter said you pushed him.”
“He was confused.”
“He said there was video.”
That sentence destroyed him.
Greg stepped backward.
“What?”
Emily looked at me.
I understood immediately.
Walter had been right.
Greg did not know about the basement recording.
“Video,” I repeated.
Greg’s eyes darted toward the house.
Talbot grabbed his arm.
“Did you know about this?”
“No.”
“You said the camera was disconnected.”
“It was.”
“Apparently not.”
Greg yanked free.
“Shut up.”
Talbot’s voice rose.
“You shut up.”
The men began arguing.
Emily whispered into the phone.
“They’re fighting now.”
The dispatcher told her officers were approaching.
I could not hear sirens yet.
But Talbot must have suspected.
He grabbed the gasoline can.
“Where is the workshop?”
Greg stared at him.
“What?”
“Walter kept everything there, right?”
Greg said nothing.
Talbot moved toward the side yard.
Emily gasped.
“He’s going to the workshop.”
She ran toward the back door.
I caught her sleeve.
“No.”
“He’ll burn it.”
“We already have the flash drive.”
“What if there’s more evidence?”
“There probably is.”
“That’s exactly why—”
“No.”
I pulled her closer.
“You are more important than a box of papers.”
Emily stared at me.
Then we heard glass shatter.
Not from the front door.
From behind the house.
Dana screamed.
“The workshop.”
Smoke appeared through the kitchen window almost immediately.
Black.
Thick.
Emily ran toward the window.
“No!”
Talbot had smashed one of Walter’s workshop windows.
Greg stood ten feet away, watching.
Talbot poured gasoline through the broken opening.
Then he pulled something from his pocket.
Emily screamed through the glass.
“DON’T!”
Talbot struck a lighter.
For one strange second, the tiny flame looked harmless.
Then he threw it.
The workshop exploded into orange.
I heard myself scream Walter’s name.
Flames rolled up the wall.
Smoke poured through the roofline.
Emily ran for the back door.
I grabbed her.
“Grandma!”
“No!”
“The box!”
“No!”
“The photographs!”
“We have some.”
“The original files!”
“Emily!”
I held her face in both hands.
“Your grandfather did not hide those things for you to die saving them.”
She stopped fighting.
Outside, Talbot stumbled backward from the heat.
Greg stared at the burning workshop.
Then at the house.
He looked horrified.
Even he had not expected this.
“What the hell did you do?” Greg shouted.
Talbot turned.
“What you should have done two years ago.”
Greg stepped toward him.
“You idiot!”
“You said there was evidence.”
“There are people in the house!”
Talbot stared at him.
“Then get them out.”
Something about the way he said it made my stomach turn.
Greg understood too.
“You weren’t supposed to burn the house.”
Talbot looked toward the back porch.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
Then he lifted the gasoline can again.
Emily whispered, “Grandma.”
The can was still half full.
And Talbot was walking toward my kitchen.
“Everybody out,” I said.
Dana froze.
“What?”
“Front door. Now.”
Emily grabbed the laptop.
I grabbed Walter’s green box.
Dana grabbed her purse.
We ran toward the foyer.
Greg saw us through the front window.
He rushed back.
“Mom!”
I unlocked the door.
Emily grabbed my wrist.
“Are you sure?”
“We cannot stay inside.”
I opened it.
Greg reached for me.
I pulled away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Talbot’s lost his mind.”
“He came here with you.”
“I didn’t know he would do this.”
“You knew enough.”
Emily pulled me toward the driveway.
Dana followed.
Greg turned toward the backyard.
“Talbot!”
Smoke rolled above the roof.
Neighbors began coming outside.
Someone shouted that the fire department was coming.
Then we heard the sirens.
Talbot appeared around the side of the house.
He was no longer carrying the gasoline can.
Emily stared.
“Where did he put it?”
Talbot stopped when he saw the street.
Two police cars turned the corner.
He ran.
“Police!” Emily shouted.
Talbot sprinted toward the backyard fence.
An officer jumped from the first cruiser.
“STOP!”
Talbot did not.
He climbed halfway over the wooden fence before the officer caught him.
The fence cracked.
Both men fell into the neighbor’s yard.
Another officer ran around the house.
Greg stood in the driveway with both hands visible.
I thought he might surrender.
Instead, he looked at Emily.
Then at the laptop she was carrying.
His entire expression changed.
He lunged.
Emily screamed.
Greg grabbed the laptop.
“No!”
She held on.
“Give it to me!”
“You’re insane!”
Greg twisted it from her hands.
I hit his arm with Walter’s green box.
The laptop fell onto the driveway.
Its screen cracked.
Greg kicked it.
Once.
Twice.
Emily shoved him.
An officer tackled Greg from behind.
They hit the pavement.
Dana screamed his name.
The officer forced Greg’s arms behind his back.
“Stop resisting!”
“I’m not resisting!”
“You tried to destroy evidence!”
“That’s my daughter’s computer!”
Emily shouted, “It’s mine!”
The second officer came running back.
“Talbot’s detained.”
Behind us, the workshop roof collapsed.
The sound felt like a piece of my heart breaking.
Flames swallowed Walter’s workbench.
His coat.
His coffee mug.
The chair where he had recorded his final message.
I stood there holding the green box against my chest.
I had spent two years refusing to enter that workshop because I could not bear to remember him.
Now I would never walk into it again.
The fire department arrived.
Hoses unrolled across my yard.
Neighbors crowded the sidewalk.
Police separated everyone.
Greg sat handcuffed beside a cruiser.
Talbot sat against another.
Dana paced near the mailbox.
Emily stood beside me.
“Grandma.”
I could not look away from the fire.
“He built that workshop when you were five.”
Emily squeezed my hand.
“He kept every piece of scrap wood because he said someday he would need it.”
She smiled through tears.
“That sounds like him.”
“He had a jar full of bent nails.”
“Why?”
“He said straight nails were arrogant.”
Emily laughed and cried at the same time.
That helped.
Not much.
But enough.
A detective arrived about twenty minutes later.
Detective Morales.
She was in her forties, sharp-eyed, hair pulled tightly behind her head.
She listened to Emily first.
Then me.
Then Dana.
Greg refused to speak without an attorney.
Talbot did the same.
When Emily explained Walter’s video and the trust money, Morales stopped writing.
“You have copies?”
“The laptop may still work.”
Emily pointed toward the cracked computer.
“And the flash drive?”
She reached into her pocket.
My heart stopped.
The flash drive was not there.
Emily checked again.
Other pocket.
Coat.
Nothing.
Her face changed.
“No.”
Morales frowned.
“What?”
“The flash drive.”
Emily looked toward the house.
“I had it.”
“When?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Before you ran outside?”
“Yes.”
We all looked toward the house.
Smoke drifted across the back.
The kitchen itself had not caught fire, but firefighters had gone inside.
Emily whispered, “I left it plugged into the laptop.”
We looked at the laptop on the driveway.
No flash drive.
Greg stared at us from beside the police car.
And smiled.
A tiny smile.
Barely there.
Emily saw it.
“You took it.”
Greg said nothing.
Morales turned.
“Mr. Parker, do you have a flash drive?”
“I want my attorney.”
The officer searched his pockets.
Wallet.
Keys.
Phone.
Receipts.
Nothing.
No flash drive.
Emily looked around the driveway.
“It has to be here.”
We searched.
Under the car.
Near the porch.
Along the walkway.
Nothing.
Talbot watched silently.
Then Morales walked toward him.
“Where is it?”
Talbot shrugged.
“My attorney.”
Morales stared at both men.
“They were willing to burn a building for it,” Emily said.
“Then they won’t stop because the workshop is gone.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Morales looked at the green metal box in my arms.
“What’s inside that?”
“Walter’s letter. Photographs. Some bank documents.”
“May I see it?”
I hesitated.
Then handed it over.
She opened it carefully.
Photographs.
Statements.
The safe-deposit key.
She held it up.
“What does this open?”
“First County Bank.”
Morales looked at Emily.
“Did the video say what’s there?”
“No.”
I remembered Walter’s exact words.
There is a key inside this box. It opens a safe-deposit box at First County Bank.
“What if that’s the backup?” I asked.
Emily’s eyes widened.
Morales looked between us.
“Backup of what?”
“Everything.”
She nodded.
“We’ll go to the bank.”
Greg heard.
His smile vanished.
That was how I knew we were right.
Morales noticed too.
She looked at Greg.
He looked away.
An hour later, the fire was under control.
Walter’s workshop was gone.
Half the back fence was charred.
The kitchen windows were black with smoke.
But the house stood.
My house.
Emily’s house.
Our home.
The fire marshal said the gasoline pattern made arson obvious.
Talbot would not be going anywhere.
Greg was being detained for assault, attempted destruction of evidence, and possible involvement in the fire.
The trust investigation would come later.
As officers prepared to take them away, Greg asked to speak to me.
I almost said no.
Then I changed my mind.
I walked toward the cruiser.
He sat inside with the rear door open.
Handcuffs in front of him now.
His good shirt was dirty.
The one he had worn for the realtor.
Funny how quickly costumes lose their power.
“Mom.”
I said nothing.
“Do not go to the bank.”
There it was.
No apology.
No concern about the burned workshop.
No question about whether I was safe.
Just fear.
“Why?”
“You don’t know what Dad put in that box.”
“That is why we are going.”
“He hated me.”
“Walter loved you until the day he died.”
“No.”
Greg shook his head.
“You don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand?”
“He was going to ruin me.”
“You did that yourself.”
His eyes filled with tears.
Real ones this time.
“Mom, please.”
“You tried to put me in a locked nursing home.”
“I was desperate.”
“You forged my name.”
“I needed money.”
“You stole from your daughter.”
“I was going to pay her back.”
“You pushed your father down the stairs.”
His face went still.
“That was an accident.”
“Then why did you hide it?”
“Because he threatened me.”
“With the police?”
“With everything!”
His voice cracked.
“He wanted to take everything from me.”
I stared at him.
“You mean consequences.”
Greg looked at the ground.
Then he said something strange.
“Dad wasn’t protecting Emily.”
I almost walked away.
Greg grabbed the edge of the seat.
“Mom.”
I stopped.
“The money wasn’t the real reason he made those recordings.”
I turned back.
“What are you talking about?”
Greg looked toward Detective Morales.
Then lowered his voice.
“The trust was only part of it.”
“What else?”
He swallowed.
“Dad found out who Talbot really worked for.”
I stared at him.
“Talbot worked for the bank.”
“No.”
Greg shook his head.
“That’s what Dad thought at first.”
“Then who?”
Before Greg could answer, the officer closed the cruiser door.
“We need to go.”
Greg leaned toward the window.
His lips moved.
I could barely hear him through the glass.
“Don’t open box 317.”
The cruiser pulled away.
Emily came beside me.
“What did he say?”
“Box 317.”
Her face changed.
“That must be the safe-deposit box.”
Detective Morales heard us.
“Did he tell you not to open it?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“Then we definitely open it.”
Two hours later, Emily and I stood inside First County Bank with Detective Morales.
The branch manager was a nervous man named Mr. Hanley.
When Emily showed the safe-deposit agreement and identification, he disappeared into the back for nearly twenty minutes.
When he returned, his face was pale.
“There is a problem.”
Emily frowned.
“What problem?”
“Box 317 is registered under Walter Parker’s name.”
“That matches the paperwork.”
“Yes.”
“But someone accessed it after Mr. Parker died.”
My heart stopped.
“When?”
Hanley looked at the computer.
“Several times.”
“Who?”
He hesitated.
“Thomas Talbot.”
Emily stared at him.
“But Talbot doesn’t work here anymore.”
“No.”
“When did he leave?”
Hanley swallowed.
“Eight months ago.”
“Why?”
“I am not authorized to discuss personnel matters.”
Detective Morales showed her badge.
“You may want to reconsider.”
Hanley looked around.
Then lowered his voice.
“Mr. Talbot was fired after an internal audit.”
“For what?”
“Unauthorized access.”
Emily whispered, “To our accounts?”
Hanley looked at her.
“Several accounts.”
Morales asked, “Can we access box 317 now?”
Hanley hesitated.
“There’s another issue.”
“What?”
“The box is not empty.”
“That’s good.”
“No.”
Hanley looked genuinely frightened now.
“The system says the contents were transferred into secure evidence storage.”
Morales frowned.
“Bank evidence?”
Hanley nodded.
“After Talbot was terminated.”
“Then bring it.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because someone checked it out yesterday.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
“Who?”
Hanley turned the monitor slightly.
The access line displayed a name.
I leaned closer.
EMILY PARKER.
Emily stared at it.
“That’s impossible.”
Hanley looked at her.
“You signed for it at 4:16 yesterday afternoon.”
“I was at work yesterday afternoon.”
Morales straightened.
“Do you have security footage?”
“Yes.”
“Show us.”
Ten minutes later we were in a small office watching yesterday’s footage.
The timestamp showed 4:13 PM.
A woman entered the bank.
Blonde hair.
Dark glasses.
Long gray coat.
She walked directly toward the safe-deposit desk.
Hanley froze the image.
“That’s the woman who showed Emily Parker’s identification.”
Emily leaned toward the screen.
“That is not me.”
I stared at the woman.
Something about the way she walked bothered me.
I had seen it before.
A slight limp in the left leg.
A habit of tilting her head before speaking.
Hanley played the footage.
The woman removed her glasses.
My heart nearly stopped.
I knew her.
But it made no sense.
She was supposed to be dead.
Emily looked at me.
“Grandma?”
I could not speak.
The woman on the screen signed the access form.
Then looked directly toward the security camera.
Older now.
Thinner.
But unmistakable.
Emily’s face went white.
“No.”
I reached for her hand.
Because the woman who had entered the bank using Emily’s identity was the same woman whose funeral Emily had attended twenty years earlier.
Her mother.
Laura.
Emily stared at the screen.
“My mother is dead.”
Hanley said nothing.
Detective Morales said nothing.
The video continued.
Laura accepted a black evidence case from a bank employee.
She carried it toward the exit.
Just before she left, she stopped.
She turned back toward the camera.
And mouthed three words.
Emily leaned closer.
“What did she say?”
Morales replayed it.
Once.
Twice.
Then I understood.
My body went cold.
Laura had looked directly into the camera and said:
WALTER WAS RIGHT.
The footage ended.
Emily stared at the black screen.
Then her phone rang.
Unknown number.
Nobody moved.
It rang again.
Emily answered.
“Hello?”
A woman’s voice came through the speaker.
Older.
Shaking.
But alive.
“Emily?”
Emily’s knees nearly gave out.
“Mom?”
Silence.
Then the woman whispered:
“If Greg knows you found Walter’s box, you have less than twenty-four hours.”
Emily gripped the phone.
“Where are you?”
“Listen to me.”
“Mom, where are you?”
“Do not trust the police.”
Detective Morales froze.
The woman continued.
“Do not trust the bank.”
Emily looked at Morales.
“And whatever you do…”
The voice broke.
“Do not let them open the black case.”
The call disconnected.
Emily stared at me.
The branch manager stared at the floor.
Detective Morales slowly reached for her phone.
And then I noticed something I had missed.
A tiny silver pin attached to Morales’s coat.
A symbol.
A circle crossed by three lines.
The exact same symbol Walter had drawn beside Thomas Talbot’s name in one of the documents from the green box.
Morales saw me staring.
Her hand moved toward her jacket.
I stepped backward.
Emily noticed.
“Grandma?”
I could barely breathe.
Because suddenly Greg’s warning made sense.
Thomas Talbot had never been working alone.
And the detective standing beside us might have been part of whatever Walter had discovered.
Then Morales locked the bank-office door…………..
TO BE CONTINUED IN LAST PART…
