Page 2 of The Firefighter's Fate

“Spit it out, then,” I growl. “I know you won’t walk out of here until you get the satisfaction of unloading what’s on your mind. You came all the way down here from your mansion to grace us with your presence, so you might as well say what you need to say, Waylen.”

I put particular emphasis on his first name. I have never called him that before, so it is jarring coming from between my lips. Growing up, none of my brothers or I would ever even think of calling him by his first name. I want him to know how far we’ve come since then.

My father calmly turns back to me and stares at me for a long time with his penetrating eyes.

“You’re wasting your life, Connor.”

A guttural sigh emerges from the back of my throat.

“That’s exactly what I thought you would say,” I reply quietly. “I’m not disappointed.”

“You’re wasting your God-given potential by being nothing more than a firefighter.”

I take in my father’s words.

I can feel them adding to the flames of my heart’s anger.

And I keep it sealed.

I’m not going to lose control here. There’s no point. I’m not going to give Waylen Penmayne the relish of watching me erupt.

Instead of cursing or throwing back insults, I simply point to the front doors of the fire station.

“I’m not going to raise my voice,” I say, composed. “I’m not that kind of man. But I also want you to know, Waylen, that I never want to see you again. Once you step out of those doors, you are to never contact me again.”

My father nods. He understands. His face is blank - emotionless in the way that only a billionaire risen above the petty squabbles and worries of the world can be.

He follows my gesture and slowly walks out of the fire station with the graceful stride of a powerful man.

I’m not going to lose control...

I refuse to.

As I watch my father leave, the anger in my heart burns even more brightly than it ever has done.

No fire on any bad day can come close to that pain.

And I know for a certain fact no one in the world will ever cure me of it.

1

EMBER

My heart is beating at a million miles an hour, but I resolutely remain calm.

Well, it is my job to remain calm under pressure. I have no choice but to. Sure, I’m not doing something mind-blowingly dangerous like putting out fires or anything crazy like that... but getting the chance to sit down with some really bad people and conjuring up the ballsy willpower to ask them the difficult questions that no one else can – or dare– ask them can be a surefire way to really jumpstart your heart.

And the bad person – the very bad person – sitting opposite me, right now, is Joseph Wilson.

United States senator.

And someone with a very, very dark reputation.

And he is the man with whom I am about to interview...

Lord help my sorry butt.

Joseph Wilson is every inch the stereotypical male senator – well-groomed and polished and always ready for a handshake in front of a camera. He’s ripped straight outta the textbook of politician-lookalikes like a cardboard cut-out. He wears a dark blue tailored business suit with the American flag lapel pin and everything. He has slicked back hair dyed black. His white fake teeth shine. His glowing skin has been freshly tanned on a sunbed. A square block jaw stands him out as someone practically bred for television. He’s filled to the brim with the confidence of a man who wields absolute power and unquestionable authority. His political decisions, both big and small, have changed lives both at home and overseas, and – in his case - mostly for the worse, as my extensive research has informed me.

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