Chapter 3 - WHY SABINE WAS STANDING WITH THE POLICE
I did not get to confront Sabine beside the fire.
The deputy separated us.
Professional.
Calm.
Annoyingly calm.
A female detective took Ada toward an ambulance—not because she was injured, but because it was warm and quiet.
I tried to follow.
“Mr. Hartwell.”
The deputy stepped into my path.
“My daughter.”
“She’s safe.”
“My wife—”
“She’s also safe.”
I stared at him.
“How did she get here?”
He did not answer.
That made everything worse.
“What is going on?”
“Why are you at this site?”
“My daughter woke me.”
“At four in the morning.”
“Yes.”
“Told you to come here.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t call anyone?”
“No.”
“You didn’t question it?”
“Of course I questioned it.”
“But you came.”
I looked toward Ada.
I could see her yellow shoes beneath the ambulance blanket.
Then toward Sabine.
She was talking quietly to another investigator.
Not looking at me.
Something inside me went cold.
“You think I started that fire.”
The deputy did not confirm it.
Did not deny it.
He asked:
“Do you have access to the construction trailer?”
“Yes.”
“Keys?”
“Electronic fob.”
“With you?”
I checked automatically.
My work fob was attached to my truck keys.
“Yes.”
“Who else has access?”
“Dozens of people. Nathan. Foremen. Office.”
“Did you know records were stored in that trailer?”
“Yes.”
“What records?”
“Project records.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know. Daily logs. Change orders. Old purchase files.”
He watched my face.
“You own part of Hartwell Construction?”
“Yes.”
“Any reason somebody might want those records destroyed?”
That question landed differently.
Longleaf.
Sabine.
Nathan deleting the folder.
I looked at my wife again.
She finally looked back.
The expression I had read as calm was not calm.
Her jaw was clenched.
Her arms were locked against her body.
She had the face she wore when she was trying very hard not to show Ada she was frightened.
I knew that face.
I had simply never seen it from this far away.
“What did she tell you?”
The deputy followed my gaze.
“Your wife contacted investigators several months ago.”
The ground seemed to shift beneath me.
“What?”
“She’s been cooperating in an inquiry involving Hartwell.”
I stared at him.
“For how long?”
“I’m not discussing details here.”
“How long?”
He hesitated.
“Eight months.”
Eight months.
My wife had spent eight months speaking to investigators about my family’s company.
Sleeping beside me.
Eating dinner.
Taking Ada to gymnastics.
Asking whether we needed milk.
Eight months.
And I knew nothing.
The fire suddenly seemed almost secondary.
Then Sabine walked toward us.
I stepped forward.
“Did you send Ada to me?”
Her face changed.
“No.”
“Did you tie her shoes?”
“No.”
“Did you know she was bringing me here?”
“No.”
“Why are you here?”
“Because I called them.”
“When?”
“When I woke up and you were both gone.”
“You were awake?”
“No.”
Her voice broke for the first time.
“I woke up because the front door alarm chimed.”
I remembered.
The quiet security notification Sabine had enabled months earlier after a package theft.
“I went into Ada’s room. Her backpack was gone.”
She swallowed.
“And I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“The broken gate.”
I stared at her.
“How?”
Sabine closed her eyes.
“Because she said it once before.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
My anger arrived instantly.
“She told you somebody was talking to her about this site?”
“She said Uncle Nathan had a game about the broken gate.”
I stopped.
Not Sabine.
Nathan.
My brother.
“What game?”
“She wouldn’t explain.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I asked Nathan.”
I almost laughed from disbelief.
“You asked him?”
“He said they were playing treasure hunt when he babysat her.”
“So that was enough?”
“No.”
Sabine looked toward the burning trailer.
“I told the investigators.”
The deputy shifted.
That mattered.
“They said not to confront him about it again while they checked whether it related to the case.”
I stared at her.
“So you knew my brother might be using our daughter in something connected to an investigation and you let him keep seeing her?”
Her face collapsed.
“No.”
“He picked her up Wednesday.”
“With you there.”
“I was there for part of it.”
“He tied her shoes.”
Sabine’s eyes moved toward Ada’s yellow sneakers.
And for the first time, she looked truly terrified.
“Michael.”
I turned toward her.
She whispered:
“Nathan brought her home yesterday.”
Everything stopped.
The shoes.
The backpack.
The rehearsed words.
The fire.
Not a game Sabine had created.
Not something Ada invented.
May you like
My brother had put his hands into my daughter’s morning before any of us woke up.
And he had known exactly where he wanted her to take me.
