Chapter 6 - THE NIGHT BLACKWOOD ALMOST BURNED
The fire started just after midnight.
I had finished my shift at the freight terminal and was driving toward Blackwood when I saw an orange glow beyond the trees.
At first, I thought it was a neighbor's bonfire.
Then I saw smoke.
I pulled over and called 911.
By the time I reached the lodge, flames were climbing the side of the detached storage building.
I ran toward the water supply, grabbed a hose, and tried to keep the fire from reaching the main structure.
The smoke was thick. Sparks drifted across the yard. My hands shook so badly that I nearly dropped the nozzle.
Galen arrived in his truck and helped me move equipment away from the burning building.
The volunteer fire department reached us minutes later.
They extinguished the flames before they spread to the lodge.
Nobody was injured.
But the storage building was badly damaged.
Inside, I had kept old registers, salvaged timber, and several boxes of documents that had not yet been digitized.
The fire destroyed some of the materials.
I stood in the muddy yard, watching the last flames disappear, and felt something inside me break.
I had spent months rebuilding a place that seemed determined to fall apart.
Now someone had burned part of it.
The fire marshal examined the scene the next morning.
The cause remained undetermined pending further investigation. There was no immediate proof that anyone had deliberately set the fire.
I refused to speculate publicly.
But I made sure the report documented everything.
Eleanor arranged for the surviving records to be moved to secure storage. The engineer preserved digital copies of the surveys. Galen helped me board up the damaged structure.
Rosalind arrived with coffee and a box of sandwiches.
She didn't ask whether I was all right.
She simply stood beside me until I was ready to speak.
“I don't know if I can keep doing this,” I admitted.
“Then don't decide today.”
“What if they never stop?”
“Then you keep records. You get good advice. You don't fight alone.”
I looked at her.
“You make it sound easy.”
“It isn't. But neither is surrendering your life to people who think they own you.”
That afternoon, Eleanor received a call from the fire marshal requesting additional information about recent access disputes.
It was a procedural step, not an accusation.
Still, the timing intensified the pressure surrounding Blackwood.
My father called that evening.
“I'm sorry to hear about the fire.”
“Thank you.”
“Perhaps this is a sign that you should reconsider the offer.”
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
“My storage building burned down, and your first thought is to buy my land?”
“My first thought is that you're in over your head.”
“No. Your first thought is that I might finally become desperate enough to sell.”
He exhaled sharply.
“You are making this personal.”
“You made it personal when you called me a waste of the family name.”
“That was a private family conversation.”
“You gave me that uniform in front of dozens of people.”
He said nothing.
I continued.
“You don't get to humiliate me in public and demand trust in private.”
He hung up.
For the first time, I didn't feel guilty.
Two days later, the fire marshal confirmed that the cause remained under investigation and that no determination of intentional wrongdoing had been made.
I accepted the uncertainty.
I would not turn suspicion into fact simply because I was angry.
Instead, I focused on what I could prove.
The easements.
The disputed document.
The development proposal.
The unauthorized entry.
The financial interests connecting Golden Capital to the property.
Eleanor began preparing a formal response to the company's legal claims.
Meanwhile, the county announced a public meeting regarding the proposed water corridor.
The meeting would include engineers, residents, landowners, and representatives from the development community.
Golden Capital had already reserved seats.
My father would be there.
So would Declan.
I looked at the invitation on my kitchen table.
For months, my family had spoken about me as though I were a foolish girl playing at being a property owner.
Now they would have to address me as the person whose land stood at the center of their plans.
I folded the invitation and placed it beside my grandmother's letter.
Then I went back to work.
May you like
I had a building to save.
And this time, I was not going to let anyone frighten me into giving it away.
