By the time I walk into my apartment and log on to my office computer via the company’s secure network, everything is ready to go. Except I didn’t count on having to review a minimum of three hours for each of the six video feeds with footage covering different angles of the section of the building where the fire started. Doing the math, it’s not quite ten at night, so I can expect to be finished tomorrow afternoon. But not when strong coffee and the fast-forward feature are my friends.

It takes me almost all night to review a video footage, but by four in the morning, I have a lead. There’s one clip that shows a man lurking near the air conditioning unit that started the fire. The image is not as clear as I’d like it, taken from outside the building. The person must also have had some knowledge of the camera locations, because he managed to avoid showing his face on any of the footage, and covered his head with a baseball cap.

I send an email with the details to Geoff, asking him to do his best to enhance the shot. If we can get a closer look at his face, we may be able to get Mason’s people to identify who it is and whether the person was authorized to be there.

Satisfied, I kick off my shoes, strip out of my shirt and pants, and head to bed. I double check my alarm too. Three hours of sleep isn’t near enough after such a long day, but I’ll make do.

I’m halfway to the office when I get a text from Leo telling me that Mason wants to meet at the ranch. That requires me to double back through rush hour traffic. The only way I’ll make it there on time is if I get the hell off the highway and take one of the ranchers’ access back roads nearby. I’m taking a chance, as I can end up stuck driving behind a piece of slow-moving ranch equipment, but the road less traveled is a better bet this time around.

Lady luck is in a good mood today too, and I get to the ranch ten minutes early. Leo is already here, waiting beside his truck that’s parked in the semi-circular driveway in front of the main house.

“Is Geoff coming?” I ask him as I jump out of the SUV.

“No. I told him to keep working on enhancing the images you found. Let’s get this over with. Mason is our biggest client, but he’s not our only client. I’ve got two more meetings this morning.”

“My day’s packed solid too,” I tell him, following him to the front door.

A middle-aged dark-haired housekeeper answers the door and leads us through the large, stately home to Mason’s study. She knocks on the door, only opening it when she hears Mason’s invitation for her to go in.

“Mr. Connelly and Mr. Atkinson from Allied Force Security are here to see you, Mr. Mason,” she announces from the half-open mahogany sliding door.

“Come on in.” Gerald Mason waves us in with his tablet computer in one hand, continuing to read as he sips on a small cup of espresso. “Would you gentlemen like some coffee? Or breakfast?”

“Good morning, Mr. Mason,” Leo greets him. “Thanks for the offer, but we’re fine, thanks.” We’re short on time as it is.

“Tell me you have an update for me.”

“I know you’re a busy man, so we’ll get to the point. There have been three suspicious fires on your various properties in as many weeks.”

Mason, as we like to refer to him, briefly glances up from whatever he’s reading. “Not four?”

“No. The fire investigators ruled out the grease fire at the Mirabel Resort as accidental, so that makes three.” Leo opens the letter-size envelope he brought with him and pulls the blown-up photograph of the unknown man in the baseball cap from the video feed. “Video surveillance captured this man near the location of last night’s fire. We suspect he has some knowledge of your operations, because he came on and off the premises without being noticed, and managed to navigate the grounds while keeping his face from being captured by the CCTV cameras.”

“Interesting.”

Leo passes the photo to Mason. “As you can see here, he covered much of his face with a baseball cap. This image is not clear, but it’s the best one from all the camera feeds. Does he look familiar at all?”

Mason studies the image for a while, and then he shakes his head. “It’s way too blurry. But he’s got to be staff… or former staff.”

“How do you know that for sure?”

“We gave those monogrammed baseball caps to all our employees at last year’s family day event. Not that this information can help much. I have close to two thousand staff.”

“Good point. But…roughly how many of them lost their jobs during the last two company downsizing initiatives since that time?”

“Claire from HR can give you an exact number, but I’d say it’s about four hundred. Except… not all those staff had access to this ranch. Only a couple dozen of the downsized senior and mid-level managers would have had business dealings here.” Mason smiles and gets to his feet, heading over to the large mahogany desk at the far side of the study. “I see where you’re going with this. Let me facilitate this search so it’s a little easier for you.” He makes a call from his cell phone and turns on the speakerphone.

“Good morning,” someone answers. “Mason Industries HR Division. This is Claire Regent. How may I help you?”

“Hello Claire? Gerald here.”

“Good morning, Mr. Mason,” Claire chirps. Her tone is more formal and high-pitched now that she’s aware it’s her boss on this end of the line. “What can I do for you?”

“I need you to go through the staff records and pull up a list of all the senior and mid-level managers we let go over the last year.”

“Of course. Just former managers, sir?”

“Yes. No time to explain. Highlight the ones who had access to my horse ranch. Email me the list, and copy Leo Connelly at Allied Force Security in the message.”

“Will get the information to you right away, Mr. Mason.”

“One more thing,” I add. “We should also look at any managers who were affected by the downsizing efforts but are still employed by your organization.”

“What do you mean?” Mason asks.

“Former senior managers who were demoted, or given unfavorable lateral transfers or forced relocations, for example.”

Mason nods his understanding. “Smart. Claire, did you get that?”

“Yes sir. I’ll have this to you within the hour.”

“Thanks.” Mason hangs up, letting out a sigh of frustration. “It’s hard to believe someone still working for me could do this. Ungrateful son a gun.”

“We’re just ruling out some possibilities, but realistically, if an employee is disgruntled enough, and bold enough, anything’s possible.”

“Whoever it is, we need to get them to stop. The sooner the better. This string of fires is no good for business. Never mind my skyrocketing insurance. Just get to the bottom of this before there’s another incident.”

Leo nods politely, but I can see the annoyance flashing across his face. “We’re on it.”

“Is there anything else I can do?”

“There’s no quick fix solution that will eliminate every threat, as you know, given the sheer number of tourists, locals and other visitors that frequent your hotels and resorts, but it can’t hurt to have your Facilities VP beef up baseline security staffing at all locations and increase perimeter monitoring. Even if it’s a temporary measure, it may be enough of a deterrent to discourage another attempt.”

Mason nods, eying us with curiosity. “I much prefer working with absolutes, Connelly, but I understand what you mean.” He crosses the room and extends his arm for a handshake, first to Leo and then, to me. “Thanks for making the trip out here, Connelly, Atkinson. I’ll see you out.”

“Anytime.”

Mason leads us back to the mansion to the front doors, and before he returns inside, he adds, “Hang on, men. What are your best estimates of this douchebag’s next target?”

“I’ve started running an algorithm on the potential sequence of targets,” I answer before Leo does. As Head of Security Strategy, Mason’s question is right up my alley. And the man didn’t just hire us to stand there and look like badasses. He brought us on board to protect his assets and mitigate his losses.

He gives me an appreciative nod. “Good! What have you come up with so far?”

“There’s a Rothman-Finch auction scheduled at the Royal Fenton Hotel in a week,” I say.

“You’re right. There is. Do you believe he’s planning a heist?”

“No. Arsonists don’t typically transition to grand theft. They usually escalate to murder. So, worse than a heist.”

Mason searches my face, and puts two and two together. “Jesus. If his goal is to fuck with my reputation…my livelihood…they yes. I can see how ending lives at the same that as destroying a lot of precious antiques and valuables could do me in. You need to get in front of this potential shit show and catch this crazy little fucker.”

“We’ll do our best,” Leo replies.

“Make it happen,” he concludes, and lets us out.

Leo doesn’t mask his impatience when we’re back at our vehicles. “We’ve got our work cut out for us.”

I nod. “We do. At least he didn’t try to offer you the VP of Facilities gig again.”

“True. We’re way better off operating as a business. There are far too many ways for this guy we’re after to make things go sideways, which means this contract with Mason Industries is already at risk. That, plus you know I’ve never liked the idea of putting all our eggs in one basket.” He unlocks the SUV doors with his remote and climbs into the driver seat. “See you back at the office.”

It’s not yet nine in the morning and already, I can use a drink.