“If you spark that lighter, this room will go up instantly.”

“You won’t survive it.”

“I don’t care,” Charles said.

His eyes were wild, bloodshot.

“I built this family.”

“I built this town.”

“I am not going to spend the rest of my life in a cell because of a gardener.”

He raised the lighter.

He flicked the wheel.

A small, yellow flame appeared.

The air in the room seemed to tighten.

I did not move.

I kept my weapon pointed at his chest.

“Drop it, Charles,” I said.

“It’s over.”

“The helicopters are landing on your lawn.”

“The federal agents are already entering the house.”

“You can’t run.”

“I don’t need to run,” he said.

“I just need to destroy the evidence.”

“Without the files, they have nothing.”

He moved his hand over the open trash can.

The flame flickered in the draft from the stairs.

Suddenly, a sharp, electronic ring broke the silence.

It was not my phone.

It was Charles’s secure satellite phone, lying on the table next to the flashlight.

The screen lit up with a bright, blue glow.