Cinders of the Conspiracy

Chapter 4

Clues in the Ashes.

With the light haze of ash clinging stubbornly to the morning air, the charred remnants of Eleanor's home loomed ahead. With his boots crunching on the gravel, Silas Granger exited his vehicle and looked around the devastation. His countenance was opaque, the glint of curiosity behind his keen eyes barely hidden by a façade of indifference.

Beside him, Eleanor Wickham stood with her arms about her body and her eyes fixed on the remains of the house she had once called home. There was still a hint of smoke in her hair, drawn back into a loose ponytail.

She caught the corner of Silas's grin and whispered, "Don't say it."

"Say what?" he asked in a purposefully informal tone.

"That there is no hope."

With a shrug, he moved toward the burned-out front porch. “I don’t use the word hopeless. Let's examine the situation at hand.

The air was heavy with the pungent smell of melted plastic and burned wood as the two cautiously made their way through the rubble. When Eleanor's foot slammed against a fractured beam, her steps trembled, but she swiftly straightened herself out of weakness.

She said, "This used to be my office," pointing to a spot where a fallen bookshelf was lying in ruins. Beneath it were fragile, charred papers.

With his hands grazing the skeleton remains of a desk, Silas knelt next to a heap of ash-covered debris. His keen eyes scanned the area, looking for anything that might reveal a tale the flames had attempted to obliterate.

"This desk," he uttered in a reflective tone. "It's too heavy to have burned all the way through."

Silas's fingers traced a small seam down the burnt edge of the desk, and Eleanor leaned in, her breath catching.

Silas's fingertips hesitated on the desk's edge, focusing on a faint depression. After giving it a closer look with his tilted head, he took a pocketknife out of his pocket. He pushed the blade into the seam and pried it open with a perfect flick of his wrist.

With a grudging creak, the panel went way, exposing a shallow compartment that had not been damaged by the fire. Nestled inside was a bundle of papers, its edges crumpled but readable.

"What is it?" With a quivering voice, Eleanor inquired.

Eyes narrowing, Silas cautiously lifted the contents and looked at the top sheet. The paper was a ledger, with handwritten entries in the columns. Scrawled in a hasty handwriting, names, dates, and amounts danced across the page.

"This is trouble," stated Silas in a somber tone.

Leaning closer, Eleanor touched his shoulder as she attempted to interpret the paper. She glanced through the entries, pausing at a certain name.

Her voice was scarcely audible as she muttered, "Caleb Hartwell."

Silas gave a nod. It is a payment list. Most likely bribes. Although there are other names here, Hartwell's is the one that counts.

"Why is this what Thomas has?" Eleanor's voice broke as she asked.

Silas took a moment to respond. Carefully folding the ledger, he tucked it into the pocket of his coat. At last, he continued, "Your husband knew something he shouldn't have." "And this ledger? It's the sort of thing people kill in order to remain silent.

Eleanor's throat constricted, but she made herself remain composed. "Now what?"

Dusting off his hands, Silas stood. "We now determine who is observing us."

At Silas's comments, Eleanor turned abruptly, her eyes following his. A beautiful black automobile was parked just clear of the debris-strewn roadway across the street. The dark glass of its tinted windows concealed its passengers.

"Have they been there the entire time?" she said in a terrified whisper.

"Long enough," Silas said in a suspiciously tinged voice.

The motor of the car could hardly be heard as it stood idle. Silas took a step forward, his hand automatically grazing the pocket that now held the ledger. His calm yet methodical gait was an implicit challenge to everyone observing.

Eleanor grabbed Silas' arm and yelled, "Wait, Silas."

His face softened a little as he looked back at her. "Calm down. I will not instigate a quarrel. Not quite yet.

The tense calm was broken as the car's engine roared to life as they got closer. With its tires throwing up dust and debris, the car abruptly reversed. As the automobile drove off, its taillights vanishing around the bend, Silas protected Eleanor.

Eleanor seized her breath, and her chest heaved. "Who was that?"

With his gaze fixed on the street, Silas whispered, "Someone who doesn't want us digging."

Eleanor's hand gripped his sleeve more tightly. "This has to be more than Thomas, isn't it?"

"No," Silas whispered softly, clenching his jaw. "Everyone in that ledger is involved."

As they stood amid the debris, their determination solidifying, the weight of his words hung in the air. Answers were waiting somewhere, but danger was also there.

With the consequences bearing down on him like an iron grip, Silas opened the book once more. He was standing among the rubble of Eleanor's home, the slight wind bearing the acrid smell of ashes and burned memories. Caleb Hartwell was intimately implicated in the terrible picture created by the names and figures written across the papers.

Silas tapped the paper and said, "Look at this." Eleanor took a step forward, looking over the hastily constructed columns.

With a hint of perplexity and fear in her voice, she questioned, "What am I looking at?"

With a sharp sigh, Silas indicated a particular entry with a furrowed brow. Hartwell is operating a bootlegging operation in addition to accepting bribes. Do you see these shipments? I can see the pattern even though they are coded. It is a network of smugglers connected to distribution centers located around the city.

The realization made Eleanor's stomach turn. "My spouse must have learned about this. They killed him because of this.

With a sad nod, Silas turned the pages. This ledger demonstrates that he knew too much. Some of these names are strong. Law enforcement, politicians, and even judges. Hartwell has his claws deep in the ground.

"So what do we do with this?" Eleanor said, her voice trembling.

"Now?" Shutting the ledger and tucking it into his coat, Silas spoke. "We leave this place before anyone notices that we are prying."

Eleanor's uneasiness increased as her gaze strayed to the horizon. "You believe they're observing us?"

Silas's face became stern. "They never stop observing."

The fragile silence was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps as they turned to depart the ruins. Eleanor's heart pounded in her chest as she froze. Silas took hold of her arm and dragged her over to the safety of a collapsing wall.

His voice was steady but piercing as he murmured, "Stay low."

The crunching of the footsteps on the rubble made them louder. As Eleanor peered around the edge of the wall, her breath came in short spurts. A hazy but purposeful shadow walked through the smoky cloud.

She mouthed, her voice scarcely audible, "Who is it?"

When Silas took a little handgun out of his coat, his jaw tightened. He whispered, "Maybe someone looking for trouble."

Eleanor's gaze expanded. "Are you armed?"

"Always," he answered in a tone that made no space for disagreement.

The shadow hesitated, its form hovering close to the entrance door's remnants. Silas approached silently and methodically, signaling Eleanor to remain motionless.

The weak light caught the faint glitter of metal as the person abruptly pivoted. Silas froze and gripped the rifle more tightly.

His voice broke the tension as he yelled, "Who's there?"

The figure backed away into the darkness, but there was no answer, just the slight shuffle of movement. A car's engine came to life a few moments later, and then there was the scream of tires as it drove off.

With a somber expression, Silas went back to Eleanor's side. He helped her stand up and added, "We have company."

Eleanor's dread was evident as she gazed at him. "Don't they realize we're on them?"

With resolute dark gaze, Silas nodded. "And they won't make it simple for us to survive."