“Of course there are.” I smile, showing teeth. “And I respect them. Just as I’m sure you respect that AlphaPoint Securities has been courting our business quite aggressively. Their claim processing is remarkably efficient, I hear.”
A bead of sweat forms at his temple.
“However,” I continue, softening my tone, “I’d prefer to maintain our long-standing relationship with Meridian. In fact, if this situation with the Chambers Gallery resolves favorably, Frost Industries would be open to expanding our investment by another ten million. We have several new development projects breaking ground next quarter that need insurance coverage.”
I slide another folder across my desk. “These are the preliminaries. Exclusive to Meridian, if we can demonstrate to my board that your company prioritizes our strategic relationships.”
Thomas picks up the second folder, flipping through proposals worth eight figures in premiums. The calculation happens visibly on his face: one gallery claim versus millions in potential new business.
“I believe we can expedite Mr. Chambers’ claim,” he says finally. “Consider it personally handled.”
“Excellent.” I stand, signaling the meeting’s end. “I knew you’d understand our position. This is why we’ve always valued Meridian’s... flexibility.”
After Whitley leaves, I call Police Commissioner Reynolds. Unlike Thomas, Reynolds doesn’t need the pretense of a face-to-face meeting to understand where he stands.
“Julian, to what do I owe the pleasure?” His voice carries the warmth of career politicians.
“I need the preliminary reports on the Chambers Gallery fire. All of them.”
A pause. “Those are active investigation files.”
“And the Frost Family Foundation just committed to funding the department’s new tactical equipment. All two million dollars’ worth.” I examine my fingernails. “I’d hate to see that funding delayed due to budgetary reassessment.”
Reynolds sighs. “Give me an hour.”
Exactly fifty-three minutes later, my assistant delivers a sealed manila envelope. The preliminary reports are damning. Accelerant patterns match a distinctive brand of lighter fluid sold at only three stores in Ravenwood. Security footage from Richards’ Hardware shows Margaret Chambers purchasing two bottles the morning of the fire.
More interestingly, they found that the fire originated in the back office, not in the main gallery space, as one would expect for maximum damage. The office contained the gallery’s financial records, artist contracts, and insurance documentation. A desperate attempt to destroy evidence of legitimate business operations.
I add these reports to my growing collection. Next, I request the transcripts of the threatening calls Margaret placed to Elliot from a burner phone. Victor’s contact at the phone company was particularly helpful there.
But Margaret’s vulnerabilities extend far beyond criminal charges. I open a new folder labeledMargaret Chambersand begin documenting every aspect of her life:
Her chairmanship of the Ravenwood Arts Council, where $50,000 mysteriously disappeared last year. Her three-decade friendship with Judge Patricia Harrison, who suddenly ruled in Margaret’s favor during her acrimonious divorce from her second husband. The gardener’s son, whom she had fired from his private school scholarship when he rejected her advances.
By mid-afternoon, I have a comprehensive blueprint of Margaret Chambers’ life—every secret, every hypocrisy, everyvulnerable point where pressure can be applied until something breaks.
“You wanted to play with fire, Margaret,” I murmur, closing the file. “Let’s see how you handle getting burned.”
I glance at my watch—just after four. Perfect timing. I pick up my phone and dial a number I haven’t used in nearly a year.
“Dr. Larson speaking.” Her voice is crisp and professional, exactly as I remember.
“Amelia. Julian Frost.”
A pause. “Julian. This is unexpected.”
“I require your professional expertise.” I swivel in my chair to face the Manhattan skyline. “How’s your schedule this evening?”
I pull up the Margaret Chambers file on my tablet. “I need a forensic psychological assessment.”
“For a client?”
“For someone who’s become a problem.” I tap through the documented evidence. “Margaret Chambers. Sixty-four. Recently disowned her son for coming out. Then burned down his gallery.”
“That’s... extreme. Criminal charges pending, I assume?”
“In progress.” I forward several documents to her secure email. “What I need from you is a professional assessment of her psychological state. The escalation pattern is particularly concerning.”