Chapter 12 - The Fire at Greenhouse Three
At 3:41 Friday morning, the smoke alarm woke me.
I smelled burning plastic.
Then Grandma screamed.
“Daniel!”
I ran downstairs.
Orange light flickered through the kitchen windows.
Greenhouse Three was on fire.
The propagation cellar.
The place where Grandpa's records had been hidden.
I called 911 and ran outside.
Flames climbed thirty feet into the black sky.
Grandma came behind me carrying a garden hose.
“Grandma, stay back!”
“My boilers!”
“Forget the boilers!”
The roof collapsed.
Glass exploded.
By the time firefighters arrived, half the structure was gone.
But the evidence wasn't.
The sheriff already had it.
Whoever set the fire was too late.
Then a firefighter found something beside the service road.
A gasoline container.
And security footage from my newly installed camera caught a vehicle entering at 3:17.
A black pickup.
Registered to Harrison Development.
Charles was arrested before breakfast.
Arson conspiracy.
Witness intimidation.
Evidence tampering.
His attorneys called it a misunderstanding.
The prosecutor called it probable cause.
Grandma stood beside the smoking greenhouse and watched the news vehicles arrive.
“You okay?” I asked.
She looked at the ruins.
“Your grandfather built that greenhouse in 1983.”
“I know.”
“He swore so much putting up the rafters that the pastor stopped visiting for a month.”
I laughed.
Then she did too.
Through tears.
“We'll rebuild it,” I said.
She looked at me.
“Bigger?”
“Much bigger.”
“Good.”
May you like
Then she squeezed my hand.
Because sometimes rebuilding was the only revenge worth having.
