Chapter 3: The Face in the Fire Footage
Nobody spoke.
The image remained frozen on the tablet.
Sloane's face was unmistakable.
Her silver bracelet caught the light, and the red container was clearly visible in her hand.
I stared at the screen, waiting for someone to tell me it was a mistake.
A bad angle.
A distorted reflection.
Anything.
But there was no mistake.
“That's not what it looks like,” Sloane finally whispered.
I turned toward her.
“What does it look like?””
She shook her head.
“You don't understand.””
“Then explain it.””
Dad stepped between us.
“Enough.””
Mark stood up.
“Richard, I strongly suggest you stop interfering with the footage.””
My father gave him a hostile look.
“You're not an investigator anymore.””
“I'm still capable of recognizing a potential crime scene recording.””
“This is a private family event.””
Mark pointed at the screen.
“Your daughter is holding a gasoline container in a building that later burned down. That makes this more than a family disagreement.””
Sloane began crying.
Not the delicate tears she used whenever she wanted attention.
These were messy, frightened sobs.
“Dad, you said nobody had the video.””
My stomach dropped.
Nobody had to ask what she meant.
Dad grabbed her elbow.
“Stop talking.””
She pulled away.
“You told me it was gone!””
I looked at her.
“You knew about this?””
Sloane wiped her cheeks.
“June, please. I didn't mean for any of this to happen.””
“What didn't you mean?””
“The fire!””
I took a step toward her.
“Did you start it?””
She shook her head violently.
“No! I didn't know it would spread!””
My knees nearly buckled.
Aunt Meredith caught my arm.
“What do you mean, Sloane?””
Sloane looked at Dad.
He gave her a warning glance.
But she was already falling apart.
“It was supposed to scare her.””
The words seemed to drain the air from the garden.
I stared at my sister.
“Scare me?””
She nodded, crying harder.
“You were always getting everything.””
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
“What?””
“You were the one Caleb wanted. You were the one Mom worried about. You were always the good daughter.””
I let out a disbelieving laugh.
“You think I got everything?””
“You always acted like you were better than me!””
I looked down at my grafted arm.
At the uneven skin.
At the faint scars running beneath the fabric of my swimsuit.
“Is this what you think I wanted?””
Sloane covered her face.
“I didn't know you would be inside.””
I felt something break inside me.
“You knew I was at the cottage.””
She didn't answer.
“You knew Caleb was there.””
“I thought Dad had gotten him out!””
Caleb suddenly stepped forward.
“You knew I was upstairs?””
Sloane looked at him.
“Caleb—”
“You knew?””
Her silence answered him.
My brother began to cry.
I wrapped my arm around his shoulders.
“Don't look at her, sweetheart.””
But he kept staring.
“You left me there.””
Sloane shook her head.
“I didn't mean to!””
Dad finally spoke.
“This has gone far enough.””
His voice carried across the garden.
He turned toward the guests.
“Everyone, I apologize for this unfortunate misunderstanding. My daughters have been under considerable stress since the accident. The recording is incomplete, and there is no reason to draw conclusions.””
Mark crossed his arms.
“Then you'll have no problem preserving the original tablet and handing it over to investigators.””
Dad's jaw tightened.
“I'll speak to my attorney.””
“That's your right.””
Mark looked at Caleb.
“Can you show me where you found it?””
Caleb nodded.
Dad moved toward the tablet again.
Meredith immediately stepped between them.
“Richard, don't.””
He stared at her.
“You've always enjoyed making yourself important.””
“And you've always confused silence with loyalty.””
A few guests whispered.
Mom finally approached us.
Her face was pale.
She reached for my robe.
“June, let's get you inside.””
I stepped away.
“Don't touch me.””
Her hand fell.
“Sweetheart—”
“You knew.””
She looked confused.
“Knew what?””
“You knew Dad was blaming me for the fire.””
“Of course I knew what people were saying.””
“And you let them.””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Your father was trying to protect the family.””
I stared at her.
“From what?””
She glanced at Sloane.
Then at the tablet.
Then back at me.
“Please don't do this tonight.””
I almost laughed.
Tonight.
That was always the excuse.
Not tonight.
Not in front of guests.
Not during the holidays.
Not while Caleb was still recovering.
Not while your father was under pressure.
There was always another reason for me to remain quiet.
But I was finished.
“Mom, I nearly died.””
She pressed her lips together.
“I know.””
“No. You don't.””
I pointed to my shoulder.
“You saw the bandages. You saw the surgeries. You watched me learn how to use my arm again. And you never once asked what happened in that hallway.””
She began to cry.
“I couldn't bear to look.””
I nodded slowly.
“That was the problem. You couldn't bear to look at me, so you decided everyone else shouldn't either.””
The words landed harder than I expected.
Mom covered her mouth.
For the first time, she had no answer.
Then a voice came from the edge of the crowd.
“Actually, Eleanor, I think there's something you should explain.””
Everyone turned.
Aunt Meredith's husband, Thomas, stood near the garden gate.
He was holding a thick brown envelope.
I'd barely noticed him arrive.
“Thomas?”” Mom whispered.
He looked at my father.
“Richard, I believe these belong to the family.””
Dad's face changed.
“What are you talking about?””
Thomas approached slowly.
“I found them in the cottage insurance file.””
He opened the envelope.
Inside were printed emails, financial statements, and several photographs.
Mark took one of the pages.
His expression grew serious.
“What is this?””
Thomas looked directly at me.
“Your father filed an insurance claim three days after the fire.””
Dad scoffed.
“Obviously. The property was destroyed.””
Thomas nodded.
“Yes. But there's a problem with the claim.””
He pulled out a second document.
“The fire was classified as accidental. Yet the insurance company received a report stating that you, June, had intentionally started it.””
I felt my heart pound.
“I never saw that report.””
Thomas looked at me sympathetically.
“I know.””
He turned another page.
“The report included a signed statement from a witness.””
Sloane suddenly stopped crying.
Dad reached for the envelope.
Thomas stepped back.
“Don't.””
“Give me that.””
“No.””
Thomas looked down at the paper.
Then he read the final line aloud.
“The witness who identified June as the person responsible for the fire was…”
He stopped.
His eyes moved toward Sloane.
My sister took a step backward.
“No,” she whispered.
I looked at the paper.
At the signature.
At the familiar handwriting.
And suddenly, the entire garden seemed to tilt.
Because the person who had officially accused me of starting the fire wasn't my father.
It wasn't my mother.
It wasn't a firefighter or an insurance investigator.
May you like
It was my twin sister.
*Sloane Hayes.*
