Chapter 8
But Tyler wasn't done.
Two weeks later, I came home from work early.
The trailer was gone.
Burned to the ground.
Smoke was still rising from the ashes.
Dad was sitting on the grass across the street, wrapped in a blanket, talking to a police officer.
He saw me and stood up.
"Ryan..."
I ran to him. Held him tight.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he said. "I was at the clinic. Neighbor called me. Said it was on fire."
I looked at the ruins.
Everything we owned. Gone.
The metal box. The deed. The photos of Mom.
All of it.
The police officer came over.
"We found something," he said. "A gas can. By the back window. And there's a security camera at the store across the street. Caught a truck driving away. Same color as your brother's."
I closed my eyes.
Tyler.
He'd burned down our home.
Because he couldn't have it.
The officer put a hand on my shoulder.
"We're putting out an arrest warrant," he said. "We'll find him."
I nodded.
But I was already thinking.
About the trailer. About Dad. About everything we'd lost.
And then I remembered something.
The deed.
I'd made copies. Kept one at the construction site. Kept one at the bank.
May you like
The trailer was gone. But the land was still mine.
And I was going to rebuild.
