Chapter 4 - THE GHOST FROM THE ASHES
Arthur Reed was supposed to be dead. Callahan had told me his father passed away from liver failure five years ago. But the voice on the phone possessed a chilling, unmistakable authority that froze the blood in my veins. He demanded we meet at an abandoned diner on the outskirts of the county, threatening that if I contacted the police, Callahan would suffer a fatal "accident" on his way to the church.
I arrived at the diner an hour later. The air smelled of stale grease and damp wood. Arthur stepped out of the shadows of the defunct kitchen. He was older, his face lined with cruelty, but the resemblance to Callahan was undeniable.
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"My son has a ledger," Arthur said, skipping any pretense of a greeting. "It contains names, dates, and payout amounts from the arson rings I ran in the nineties. Your house wasn't the only one, Merritt. But it was the only one where a little girl didn't make it out fast enough."
He pointed a silver revolver at my chest. "Callahan took it from my safe the night he crashed the car. I faked my death to escape the people looking for it. I want it back. You are going to get it from him, or I will finish the job the fire started."
