“Are you trying to kill me?” Ryker asks.
I snort. “Obviously not hard enough.”
“You up for a game?” Freddie asks while reaching for my controller.
“No,” I say.
His hand hovers mid-air. He looks at me, then takes off his headset while Ryker shuts down the machine. I wait until they’re both looking up at me expectantly.
“Stephen’s been charged with arson.”
Ryker turns to Freddie, but there’s no reaction. Freddie’s eyes search mine, and I can’t help adding. “I would’ve preferred the charge be arson with recklessness.”
“What’s the difference?” Ryker asks.
“Recklessness to endanger life.”
Freddie shakes his head. “He didn’t know I was inside.”
“I don’t care.”
“Liam.”
“I don’t care,” I repeat more harshly than intended, then follow up with a slow inhale to calm myself down. “I said that’s what I would’ve preferred him to be charged with, but he wasn’t. He’s been charged with arson with the intent of insurance fraud.”
Freddie lowers his gaze to the floor.
“Stephen told us everything,” I say. “How the business has been struggling financially. Bigger companies are undercutting his prices, and he’d been laying people off, pushing all the staff to their limits, and he was offered an insulting buyout from a competitor. Stephen decided he’d rather burn the building to the ground and claim the insurance than sell for a third of the payout.”
Ryker whistles. “I bet he’s regretting that decision now . . .”
I ignore my brother. “He thought he could convince the police and fire department into believing the group of teenagers who set fire to the barn and the portable hub at the school were also responsible for the fire on Hunter Healthcare. We only released a few bits of information to the press.”
Ryker rubs his chin in thought. “Two fires started at each location, and the culprits were young.”
I nod at Ryker. “The barn went up fast as it was full of hay, and the portable office was being used to store paint, which wasflammable. They didn’t supply their own fuel, but there was fuel involved, which made the blazes look particularly ferocious . . .”
Ryker’s nose twitches. “Petrol.”
“Stephen thought they’d used it, and poured it onto the machinery inside the building, propped open both windows, then left. The CCTV was conveniently switched off.”
“I didn’t hear him,” Freddie whispers. “I had no idea.”
“You were on the second floor, and I imagine Stephen was being sneaky about it. He started both fires, left what he thought would be evidence of teenagers at the scene—energy drinks and sweets—then went home. He was then called by the fire brigade at five past twelve and told the situation. He arrived on scene at twelve forty-three in time to see Freddie being evacuated from the second floor.”
“Did he . . .” Freddie bites his lip, then asks anyway. “Did he look worried . . . not about the building or getting caught, I mean . . . about me?”
Yes, is the answer, he did look worried, but I don’t want Freddie sparing a single ounce of sympathy for Stephen. He set fire to the building, a crime itself without the insurance policy, and his selfishness and recklessness almost got Freddie killed.
It might’ve got Ryker killed too, if this had turned out differently.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I say.
“Okay,” Freddie murmurs. “Do you want to . . .” He gestures to the TV.
“No.” I eye Ryker. “How’s your back?”
“It’s fine.”
