Noah's Quest - 16. Burn Permits Not Included

Grandma and Uncle Matt appeared in Uncle Nathan’s driveway just as the fire department was dousing the smoldering remains of Parker's sports car.

Uncle Nathan was completely livid, pacing the pavement and screaming at Uncle Matt about letting an "uncontrollable child" run wild. Little B hid behind my legs, clutching my jeans. When I glanced down, the kid had a ridiculously satisfied smirk plastered across his face.

Across the driveway, Shiloh, his brothers, and Parker stood in a tight cluster, staring blankly at the charred, smoking metal frame.

“Whose car was this?” a police officer asked, walking over after consulting with the fire chief.

“Mine,” Parker whimpered, looking like he was on the verge of tears.

“Do you have a burn permit for this vehicle, sir?” the officer asked, his face deadpan.

Before Parker could respond, a middle-aged man in an impeccably tailored, wildly expensive suit strode up the driveway. “I certainly hope you are not insinuating that my son burned his own vehicle on purpose, officer.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is incinerated,” Little B whispered softly from behind me, letting out a tiny giggle.

The man’s head snapped toward us, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. “You must be the little heathen my son warned me about.”

“I wouldn’t go down that road if I were you,” Dominic warned, stepping out from the shadow of the porch.

The man let out a booming, arrogant laugh. “Dominic, if you think a eight-year-old child frightens me, you clearly don’t know high-powered defense attorneys. I want this monster charged with first-degree arson immediately.”

The officer sighed, visibly exhausted. “Not until the State Fire Commission reviews the physical evidence, sir.”

“Do you have any idea who I am?”

“No, sir, I don't,” the officer replied, his voice dripping with the heavy fatigue of a man who had heard that exact sentence a thousand times in his career.

“I am Preston Parker Parks the Fourth.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I almost strained a muscle. Of course this human thumb had to use his full numerical title.

“That’s lovely, Mr. Parks, but the Fire Commission still needs to conduct their official review.”

The sharp, rhythmic clack-clack-clack of designer heels echoed across the pavement. Grandma strode up the driveway, flanked by a distinguished older gentleman and a small entourage.

“Megan! It is so wonderful to see you,” the older man said warmly, offering Grandma a kind smile. “Don't you worry—I’ll have this eyesore cleared off your property as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, Frank,” Grandma replied gracefully. “Please give Julie my best.”

Frank turned, his eyes landing on the suit. His warm expression instantly morphed into pure disdain. “Parks. What on earth are you doing here?”

“This is my son’s car,” Parks snapped. “And I demand the little arsonist be arrested!”

“Now, triple-P, you know how procedure works,” Frank said smoothly, crossing his arms. “My investigators need to take photos and process the scene. Once we give the all-clear, the vehicle will be towed to a secure state facility for evaluation.”

Parks’s face flushed a deep, embarrassed shade of crimson. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud.

“We must be going,” Grandma declared, taking Little B gently by the hand.

“He can’t leave the state!” Parks barked, pointing an angry finger at Little B.

Grandma turned slowly, her eyes freezing him in place. She looked at the police officer. “Has the child been formally charged?”

“No, ma'am, he has not,” the officer confirmed.

“Then he hasn't been charged, and as a minor, he is going home with his family.”

Parks took an aggressive step toward Grandma, trying to loom over her. I instantly stepped into his path, invading Parks's personal space.

“I really wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I growled through gritted teeth. “Wouldn’t want to ruin that precious ugly mug of yours.”

Parks sneered at me. “Did you just threaten an officer of the court?”

“No,” I laughed in his face. “I just assumed you already knew you were hideous.”

He sputtered, looking outraged. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“He’s Shiloh’s ex,” Parker interjected smugly from behind his dad, putting heavy, bitter emphasis on ex.

I looked Parker up and down. “And you’re the consolation prize.”

Parker’s jaw literally dropped.

Deciding we had wasted enough breath on them, I took Little B’s hand and walked toward the house, with Uncle Matt and Grandma following close behind.

“I understand there was some friction when you arrived,” Grandma said quietly as we stepped inside.

“That’s putting it gently,” I sighed, rolling my eyes. “Uncle Nathan practically tried to throw me out the second I walked in.”

“It's a family house,” Uncle Matt said with a casual shrug.

Uncle Nathan and Luca stormed into the kitchen a second later, their faces thunderous.

“Before you open your mouth, Nathaniel,” Grandma warned, her voice cutting through the room like a razor, “I suggest you think very carefully about your next words. Remember whose name is on the deed to this property.”

Uncle Nathan and Luca exchanged a quick, furious glance.

“He can’t just go around setting people's cars on fire” Luca snapped.

“Did you witness him do it?” Grandma challenged calmly. “Perhaps it was a faulty electrical line. A tragic coincidence.”

“Let me remind you, Nate,” Uncle Matt added, leaning casually against the counter, “the kid is innocent until proven guilty in a court of law.”

“He did it!” Uncle Nathan growled.

“Prove it.”

“Enough,” Grandma commanded. “We will wait for the official arson report, at which point I suspect you will both owe Brody a massive apology.”

Neither Nathan nor Luca moved a muscle.

“Well... we shall see,” Grandma said pointedly. She turned to me. “Noah, do you have the evidence?”

“Yes, ma'am. Secured, just like you asked,” I said, holding up the clear bag containing Damian’s gold chain.

Grandma took my hand—and in the literal blink of an eye, the kitchen dissolved, and we were standing in the grand entryway of the house in Potomac.

“Where’s Chase?” I asked, looking around the quiet foyer.

“Working,” Grandpa said, stepping into the hallway. He looked at Grandma. “How’s Frank?”

“He’s handling it. He’ll send us the official report before it hits the press,” Grandma answered, setting her bag down.

With a soft pop, Little B appeared beside us, holding hands with Damian and Uncle Matt. We moved into the living room, and without any prompting, Damian sat down on the sofa and finally laid out the entire story about Jack’s secret penthouse condo.

“This is starting to read like a trashy crime novel,” Grandpa remarked dryly.

“The real question is how Jack managed to pull this off for years without triggering an investigation,” I said, rubbing my temples.

“Evidence tampering,” Grandma replied grimly. “Whenever a case was opened, key files mysteriously vanished from police custody.”

“We need that condo building locked down,” Grandpa urged. “Surveilled 24/7.”

“Black Hawk is already on site,” Grandma said, checking her phone.

When bedtime rolled around, I found it impossible to sleep. The king-sized bed felt completely empty without Chase. I grabbed the military teddy bear, inhaled the familiar scent of his cologne, and buried my face in his pillow. I tossed and turned for hours, my mind racing.

By morning, I gave up. I threw on a hoodie, padded downstairs, and poured myself a mug of fresh coffee. Chase still hadn't come home, and there wasn't a single text from him on my phone.

The front door opened, and Grandma and Grandpa walked in, looking exhausted.

“Did you guys go back home last night?” I asked.

“We did,” Grandma said, placing her purse on the island. She took one look at me and softened. “Sweetheart, you look terrible.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I admitted, staring at my phone. “It’s weird that Chase hasn’t texted me back.”

Grandma and Grandpa exchanged a swift, silent glance—a look so brief I almost missed it.

“He’ll be back before you know it, kiddo,” Grandpa said warmly, resting a hand on my shoulder.

“Go take a warm shower and get dressed,” Grandma encouraged gentle. “I’ll whip you up some breakfast.”

I headed upstairs, letting the hot water beat against my back, but my thoughts kept spiraling straight back to Chase. Was he okay? Was he in danger? I almost pulled out my phone to call Dr. Thomas, wondering if he was deployed on the same assignment.

When I came back downstairs, Grandma had a plate of scrambled eggs and toast waiting for me. We ate in quiet comfort.

“Black Hawk has completely secured the condo building,” Grandma announced, checking her tablet. “The FBI is en route to assist.”

“What if there are dirty agents on the scene?” I asked, setting my fork down.

“The thought crossed my mind,” Grandma nodded. “I’ve arranged for independent security from a few off-the-books sources to oversee the entry.”

Her phone dinged. A rare, genuinely relieved smile spread across her face. “The federal search warrant was just signed. Everything we recover now is officially admissible in court.”

Twenty minutes later, we were in the back of the SUV heading toward Jack’s hidden penthouse. I couldn't tell who was more of a nervous wreck—me or Damian. Grandma sat beside us, her fingers flying across her tablet as she managed emails.

My phone vibrated in my palm.

Chase: I love you. I'll be home tonight.

Noah: I love you too. Please be careful. I can't wait to see you.

A massive wave of relief washed over me, heavy enough to make my chest ache. He was safe.

We pulled up to the luxury high-rise, which was surrounded by dozens of unmarked sedans, tactical vans, and federal vehicles. A suit stepped forward and opened Grandma’s door. “Mrs. Jacobs, we’re locked down and ready for you.”

The elevator ride to the penthouse felt like it took an eternity, creeping silently up twenty stories. When the doors finally slid open, we stepped into a breathtaking, marble-floored private foyer.

“Mrs. Jacobs, team is ready to breach on your command,” an FBI field agent reported.

Damian stepped forward, his hand shaking slightly. “I... I have the access code.”

“Go ahead, Damian,” Grandma said softly.

Damian typed a long sequence into the electronic keypad, and a heavy magnetic lock clicked disengaged.

The entry team moved in first, shouting, “FBI! Search warrant!” as they cleared the entry. I always thought people only yelled that in movies.

Grandma and I stepped inside. The penthouse was stunning—floored in dark hardwood, decorated with minimalist luxury—but knowing it belonged to a monster made my stomach turn.

“Noah...”

I froze. “Did you hear that?” I whispered, turning to Grandma.

“Hear what, honey?”

“Noah... please... help...”

The faint, hoarse whisper echoed again. I followed the sound toward the far wall of the study, stopping in front of a massive floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. It was sitting slightly askew. Tucking my fingers behind the frame, I gave a firm pull, and the hidden panel swung open to reveal a heavy, steel vault door.

“Damian,” I called out. “What’s the code for this?”

Damian hurried over, staring at the reinforced lock in shock. “He... he never gave us the code for this room. He said it was where he kept his most private assets.”

I stared at the electronic keypad, completely stuck.

Suddenly, the numeric buttons began to glow—illuminating one by one in a distinct, rhythmic sequence.

4... 8... 1... 9... 2...

Holding my breath, I pressed the keys in the exact order they lit up. Heavy mechanical deadbolts whirred and clunked open inside the doorframe. With a deep, pneumatic hiss, the heavy vault door swung outward.

Sitting in the center of the dark, windowless room was Tristan.