Chapter 5 - The Confrontation at Sunset
The revelation hit me like a physical blow, knocking the wind straight out of my lungs. For four months, I had carried the invisible guilt of my scars, believing I was the one who had failed to save our marriage, blaming myself for not being fast enough, pretty enough, or whole enough.
Now, standing in my parents' kitchen looking at the arson insurance rider, that guilt dissolved instantly, replaced by an ice-cold fury that burned hotter than any fire.
“He planned it,” I whispered, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. “He left me in that room to burn. He expected me to die in the fire so he could collect the insurance money, pay off Arthur Vargas, and walk away scot-free with Chloe.”
Samuel’s face turned an alarming shade of dark purple. He reached down and grabbed his heavy wooden cane from beside the door. “That miserable, murdering coward. I’m calling the police right now. This isn't just a messy divorce anymore—this is attempted murder and federal arson.”
“Hold on, Mr. Bennett,” David interrupted, holding up a hand. “If you call the local precinct right now, Chad’s high-priced corporate lawyers will spin this. They’ll claim the insurance policy was standard, that the electrical report listed it as an accident, and that Claire’s accusations are the bitter delusions of a scorned, traumatized ex-wife.”
“David is right, Dad,” I said, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves. “We need airtight, undeniable proof that can’t be buried by corrupt lawyers or syndicate payoffs. We need Chad to confess with his own mouth.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Martha asked anxiously. “He’s hiding behind his lawyers and his mafia associates now. He won't even answer your calls.”
“He will answer mine,” I said quietly, picking up my phone.
I didn't call Chad directly. Instead, I dialed a number I had memorized long ago—Chloe Vance’s direct mobile line, which I had pulled from Beacon Creative’s internal staff directory during my visit earlier that day.
It rang three times before a sharp, defensive voice answered. “Hello? Who is this?”
“It’s Claire,” I said, keeping my tone completely devoid of emotion. “If you and Chad don't want me to walk into the downtown federal prosecutor’s office with the audio recording and the arson insurance documents within the next two hours, tell Chad to meet me at the old Pinecrest property ruins before sunset.”
There was a sharp gasp on the other end of the line, followed by frantic whispering. Then Chloe came back on, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to sound tough. “What... what do you want?”
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“Just a final conversation,” I replied smoothly. “Just the two of us. Tell him if he doesn't show up alone, I drop the files straight into the hands of the FBI. Sunset. Don't be late.”
I hung up before she could answer. ☕
