Revenge of The Furtive Billionaire Heir

82. I gotta do something.

The timber yard is, as expected, a complete wreck.

“Oh, Lord,” I find myself muttering as soon as we get out of the truck we’d taken to come to town, “how on earth did everything burn?”

“This does not look like it was an accident, no sir,” Oliver murmurs next to me, eyes wide and unblinking as they take in the wreckage, “this is deliberate. No way something this huge began with some electrical failure. No wonder everyone is blaming arsonists.”

There are a lot of people milling around the wreckage of the timberyard. Smoke still curls up from some of the blackened, charred logs, and there is an entire section marked divided away with yellow tapes and with cops guarding it, which was still smoldering. The flames had gone out, but it was going to take at least four more days for the fires to go down completely. The whole environment is unbearably hot and breathing the ash and smoke-filled air is so difficult.

We are not allowed to wander into the zone of destruction, of course. So, we jus