Page 31 of Starting Our Chance

16 Loretta

At two in the morning, a phone should not be ringing. Being jolted out of my tense dreams was a small relief, however, despite the obnoxious noise that was my ringtone. Scrubbing the sleep out of my eyes with the back of my hands, I reached for the buzzing, alight screen and managed to accept the call.

“Hello?” My voice was thick, groggy with sleep.

“Ms. Forman? This is Officer Harper. We have a situation at Sweet Briar, Inc., and I need you to get down here as quickly as possible.”

Sleep was suddenly far away. I sat up straight in my bed and demanded, “What do you mean “situation”?”

“There has been a fire. We are unable to reach Ms. LeConte, and you are the emergency contact.”

Fire. My body was immediately enveloped in a fine sheen of sweat. No, this can’t be happening. Somehow, I managed to tell the officer that I would be there in ten minutes. I scampered around my room for clothes, not caring to put on an appropriate outfit. What does one even wear to a fire at work? Business casual? Manic laughter filled my head—my mind was acting like a shorted fuse and was talking crazy.

Without waking my mama, I made it to the kitchen and had just opened the storm door when I saw the floodlight near the neighbor’s barn. Duke. That one thought made me pause, my keys in my hand. I should get him. Somehow, with all the world coming to an end, all I could think about was that he would help me. But what if he gets caught in the cross hairs of your mistakes?

I didn’t even know if the fire was related to the guys checking in on me, or if it was just two completely random incidents. That small chance that they weren’t related settled it. I would text Duke, and tell him what a mess my life was. Then he could decide if I was something he wanted to sign up for—and for a lot longer than a wild romp in the hay. It was a conversation that we ought to have before we dove deeper into this relationship anyway.

Besides, he was going to find out sooner or later that I had dated a con artist who had used me to steal from my boss—and that I had only escaped by sheer fucking luck. And if Duke could handle that kind of crazy, then he was definitely a keeper.

Me: Hey, sorry to bother you. If you are around, Sweet Briar’s office has caught on fire. I’m headed over there right now, and I could use a little moral support. If you’re sleeping, call me in the morning. No worries. Sorry to bother you.

It wasn’t until I was driving away and the pedal was to the floor boards that I realized what I had done. Slapping my palm to my forehead, my groan filled the truck—Duke was part owner of Sweet Briar, Inc.! I had basically just told my silent boss that his office had caught on fire. And instead of sounding like a professional, it had been more of a plea of help from one friend to another.

I didn’t know why those men were down here, but Mr. Oscolti had said that he was going to keep tabs on me since I was the best link to his missing money. But why would they set the place I worked at on fire? It couldn’t be them. It had to be an accident . . . or some other player was involved. Nikki could have enemies, too.

I tried to think of something better to say to Duke on the drive. I planned to send him a second message when I arrived at the office building. However, when I parked the truck and looked out of the windshield, I felt my eyelids snap wide open. My fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, holding it tight.

There in front of me was the charred frame of what had once been an office complex. But hung across two trees in the front yard, illuminated by the lights of the squad cars, was a bed sheet. And on that bed sheet written in red ink—wait, was that blood?—the words read “I want my money, LF. Give it back or else.”

Unable to breathe, my entire body shook. Brando Oscolti was making good on his threat. Who would believe me if I said that this accusation had come from him? He had assuredly left no trail to this clear display of extortion. If I went to the police, I was liable for slander. I had been legally exonerated from the theft. But that wasn’t good enough for Mr. Oscolti. He would never see my innocence, not that he ever had. He was obviously still convinced I had his money. And here he was, giving me one warning to do the right thing. Except I wasn’t able to give him back the money, because I never took it.

---