Chapter 14
Jax
The morning after William Thornfield's arrest, I'm at the station filling out what feels like my hundredth form when Hudson walks in with coffee and donuts.
"Figured you'd need these," he says, setting them on my desk. "Kate talked to Kendall and says you haven't been home yet."
"I can't. Too much paperwork." I gesture at the mountain of reports. "Arson, attempted murder, conspiracy, terrorism—the FBI wants documentation of everything."
"The real FBI or the Walking Ladies FBI?"
"Don't joke. Gladys called six times this morning wanting to give her official statement. In person. In her FBI costume."
Hudson laughs. "She's at Hooplas right now, holding court. Telling everyone how the 'FBIs' solved the case."
"They did help," I admit, taking a grateful sip of coffee. "Their information about William Thornfield and Morrison was solid."
"Speaking of which, how's Kendall?"
I check my phone. She texted an hour ago that she was at Building 3, meeting with insurance adjusters and contractors. "She's in full crisis-management mode. Won't stop long enough to process everything."
"Sounds familiar." Hudson gives me a pointed look. "You both need to take a break."
"After the paperwork—"
"The paperwork will be here tomorrow. Kendall might not be if you keep ignoring her for forms."
He's right, but before I can respond, Captain Ramirez appears.
"Morrison wants to make another deal," he announces. "Says he has information about other properties Thornfield was targeting."
"How many others?" I ask.
"Seven buildings across three counties. All low-income housing or senior facilities."
My stomach turns. "He was going to burn out the most vulnerable. What a fucker."
"And make millions redeveloping the land," Captain Ramirez confirms. "The DA wants you to interview Morrison and then Valerie. You know the case best."
An hour later, I'm sitting across from James Morrison in an interview room at the county jail. He looks terrible—unshaven, red-eyed, his expensive suit replaced with county orange.
"I want full immunity," he starts.
"You're not getting full immunity for attempted murder," I tell him. "But cooperation might get you minimum security instead of maximum."
He considers this. "Thornfield had an entire network going. Construction companies, inspectors, and even a few city council members in other towns. He'd been planning this for years."
"Names," I demand, sliding a legal pad across the table.
Morrison starts writing. The list is longer than expected—two pages of people who were either involved or being groomed for future schemes.
"The buildings here were just the start," he says. "The real money was in Palm Beach County. Waterfront properties he could turn into luxury condos."
"And Valerie?"
"She had no idea about the scope. Thought it was just about getting Kendall fired." He laughs bitterly. "He played us all. Even had plans to frame me for everything if needed."
My fist clenches, but I maintain control. "What about Brad?"
"Brad's an idiot. Just wanted the property management job. Did the grunt work—vandalism, threats. Nothing that required actual thought."
"The fires?"
"All William. He has military connections from his days in the Army. Knew how to get explosives, timers, everything." Morrison leans forward. "There's more. William kept records. Everything's in a safe deposit box at First National Bank. Box 472."
I stand to leave, but Morrison grabs my sleeve.
"Is Kendall okay?" he asks. "I know I have no right to ask, but... I never wanted her hurt. Just wanted her gone."
"She's stronger than you ever gave her credit for," I tell him. "She'll be fine." I yank my sleeve out of his grasp and leave the room.
I wash my hands multiple times after being around Morrison. What I need is a shower, but I don’t have time. Now I have to see if Valerie confesses.
I'm watching through the observation window as Valerie sits across from Captain Ramirez and a federal agent. She looks smaller somehow, deflated like all her venom has drained away.
"I want to make a deal," she says, voice hoarse from crying. "I'll tell you everything."
"We're listening," the federal agent says.
Valerie takes a shaky breath. "William approached me eight months ago. Said he knew about my affair with Morrison. Had photos, recordings. Threatened to use them in our divorce unless I helped him."
"Helped him how?"
"At first, he just wanted information. Kendall's schedule, which properties were struggling, maintenance issues. Small things." She laughs bitterly. "Then he wanted more. Said Morrison wasn't moving fast enough. That's when Brad got involved."
"Who recruited Brad?"
"I did. William gave me his name, said Brad had a history of making property managers quit. I was supposed to be his contact, keep him focused on harassment, nothing violent."
"But it escalated."
"William escalated it. Every week, something new. The vandalism wasn't enough, so flooding. Then the fires..." She starts crying. "I didn't know about the timers for the fires. I swear. When I saw Building 3 burn, I wanted out."
"Why didn't you go to the police?"
"He said he'd kill Morrison. Make it look like I did it. He had this whole plan—murder-suicide, leave evidence pointing to me. He showed me how he'd frame it. Had my fingerprints on weapons, forged journals, everything."
Captain Ramirez leans forward. "The cameras in Officer Masterson's apartment?"
"William hired someone. Professional surveillance company that does corporate espionage.
Used Morrison's master keys. William wanted dirt on Kendall, something to force her out.
When he saw her with Jax..." She shudders.
"He said it was perfect. Threatened to release the footage unless she resigned. "
"Who else was involved?"
"Just the four of us, as far as I know. But William had contacts. People who could get things. Military grade equipment, he once said. Untraceable phones. Professional criminals."
"We'll need names."
"I don't have names. He was careful. But there's a storage unit. 4782 on Industrial Boulevard. He kept records there. Insurance policies on all the buildings, development plans, even blueprints for buildings in other counties."
The federal agent makes notes. "Why should we believe you now?"
Valerie looks directly at the mirror, like she knows I'm watching.
"Because I was stupid and jealous and petty.
But I'm not a killer. I wanted Kendall gone, not dead.
When I realized William would kill her—kill all those residents—I couldn't." She turns back to the agents.
"I'm guilty of conspiracy, fraud, and harassment. But not attempted murder. Never that."
Captain Ramirez stands. "Ms. Thornfield, you're under arrest for conspiracy to commit arson, fraud, harassment, and about a dozen other charges."
"I know," she says quietly. "I deserve it. All of it."
As they lead her out, she stops at the mirror. "I know you're watching, Kendall. I'm sorry. It fixes nothing, but I'm sorry."
I turn to Kendall, who's been standing beside me the whole time. "Do you believe her?"
"About not knowing the full plan? Maybe. About being sorry? Yeah, I do."
"It doesn't change what she did."
"No. But it explains it. William played everyone—Morrison, Valerie, Brad. Used their weaknesses against them."
I sent Kendall back to work knowing she’s got a lot to get done, but I made sure she was okay after hearing Valerie’s apology and confession.
Back at the station, Captain Ramirez is coordinating with federal agents. The safe deposit box and the storage units require warrants, but within two hours, we have them.
The box contains everything—financial records, correspondence, plans for dozens of properties across Florida. William Thornfield wasn't just corrupt; he was building a real estate empire on the ashes of affordable housing.
"This is huge," Special Agent Cross says, reviewing the documents. "This connects to cases in Miami, Orlando, and Jacksonville. We're talking about RICO charges now."
"What about the locals who helped him?" I ask.
"We'll get them all. But it'll take time, though."
My phone buzzes. It's Kendall.
Kendall: The insurance company is being difficult. Says the fire was arson, so they might not pay out. I could lose my livelihood.
I'm out the door before anyone can stop me.
I find her at the remains of Building 3, standing with an insurance adjuster who looks like he enjoys denying claims. The building is a blackened skeleton, still smoking in places.
"—policy clearly states that criminal acts void coverage," the adjuster is saying.
"Criminal acts by the owner, not by terrorists attacking the building," Kendall argues, but she sounds exhausted.
"Ma'am, I don't make the rules—"
"Then get me someone who does," I interrupt, walking up. "Because if your company doesn't pay out for terrorism victims, that'll make interesting news coverage."
The adjuster recognizes me from the news coverage. "Officer Masterson. This is an insurance matter—"
"This is a crime scene where Ms. Greene was targeted by a domestic terrorist. Your company can either do the right thing or explain to the media why you're victimizing her twice."
He pales. "I'll need to make some calls."
After he scurries away, Kendall slumps against me. "You didn't have to do that."
"Yes, I did." I wrap my arms around her. "How long have you been here?"
"Since dawn. The residents keep calling, asking when they can come home. What do I tell them? That their home doesn't exist anymore?"
"You tell them the truth. That you're going to rebuild. Better than before."
"With what money? If the insurance doesn't pay—"
"They'll pay. And if they don't, we'll figure it out. The whole town will help."
She pulls back to look at me. "You can't fix this with a bake sale and good intentions, Jax."
"Watch us try. Besides, there’s nothing a good brownie can’t fix."