Chapter 4 - The Bridgeport File
The heat from the burning structure hit Ethan before he even stepped out of his car.
Bridgeport Facility #4 was surrounded by flashing red and blue lights. Fire trucks lined the perimeter, their hoses blasting heavy streams of water into the black smoke billowing from the rear warehouse wing. Dark gray ash rained down like snow onto the damp asphalt.
Ethan pushed past the police barrier, his corporate badge visible around his neck.
"Sir! You can't go past this line!" a firefighter yelled, trying to grab Ethan’s arm.
"I own this building!" Ethan shouted back, tearing his sleeve free and heading straight toward the mobile command center where Marcus Vance stood talking to a local police inspector.
Marcus Vance was a stocky, square-jawed man in his early fortys, wearing a high-visibility vest over a crumpled dress shirt. When he saw Ethan approaching through the smoke, his face turned pale, but he quickly forced an expression of professional alarm.
"Mr. Mercer!" Marcus called out, stepping forward. "It's a terrible tragedy! A short circuit in the secondary electrical breaker panel started a blaze in the storage division—"
Ethan didn't let him finish. He grabbed Marcus by the lapels of his vest and slammed him back against the side of a fire engine.
"Where are the paper logs, Vance?" Ethan growled, his voice tight with rage.
"Mr. Mercer, please! Put me down!" Marcus gasped, looking around nervously at the firefighters and officers. "I don't know what you're talking about! The fire started in the wiring!"
"You received an email from legal at four o'clock today informing you of the audit," Ethan said, his face inches from Vance's. "Two hours later, the exact archive room containing Caleb Brooks's safety records catches fire? Do you really think I'm that stupid?"
"It was an accident!" Vance panicked, struggling against Ethan's grip. "The building is forty years old!"
"If anyone is inside that building," Ethan said through gritted teeth, "I will ensure you spend the rest of your life in a federal penitentiary."
Suddenly, a loud shout went up from the rear entrance of the warehouse.
"We've got a civilian trapped in the lower staging office! Heavy smoke!"
Ethan let go of Vance, who collapsed against the side of the truck, coughing. Ethan spun around toward the rear entrance.
"Who is in there?" Ethan demanded, grabbing a firefighter rushing past with an oxygen tank.
"An night-shift security guard, sir! He was trying to retrieve personal items before the roof gave way!"
Ethan’s heart slammed against his ribs. Without hesitation, he grabbed an extra safety helmet and an emergency flashlight from the equipment rack of the fire truck.
"Sir! Hey! You can't go in there!" the firefighter yelled, but Ethan was already sprinting toward the burning side structure.
Inside the structure, the heat was suffocating. Smoke hung thick and black in the air, stung Ethan’s eyes, and made his throat burn with every ragged breath. Flaming debris crashed down from the wooden rafters overhead, showering spark storms across the concrete floor.
"Hello?!" Ethan shouted, holding his hand over his mouth, coughing violently. "Is anyone here?!"
A faint groan echoed from behind a set of collapsed metal lockers near the back wall.
Ethan sprinted through the smoke, squinting against the stinging air. He found an elderly night guard, prone on the ground, his leg pinned under a heavy steel storage locker that had fallen during the collapse.
"Help... please..." the guard wheezed, his face covered in black soot.
"Hold on!" Ethan yelled. He grabbed the edge of the heavy steel locker, digging his boots into the slick concrete floor. He pulled with every ounce of strength in his body, his muscles screaming against the sheer weight.
With a deep, guttural roar, Ethan heaved the locker upward just enough for the guard to drag his pinned leg free.
"Can you walk?" Ethan asked, dropping the locker and slinging the guard's arm over his shoulders.
"I think... my ankle is broken," the guard coughed out.
"Lean on me!"
Ethan carried the heavy weight of the man back through the narrow, burning hallway. The ceiling beams groaned ominously above them. Just as they neared the outer exit door, a section of the overhead wooden frame snapped, sending a shower of burning timber down right in front of them.
Ethan ducked, shielding the guard with his own body. A jagged piece of wood grazed Ethan's forearm, burning through his wool coat and searing his skin, but he didn't let go.
He kicked open the heavy metal emergency door and burst into the cool, rain-soaked night air, collapsing onto his knees with the guard beside him.
Paramedics immediately rushed forward, pulling the guard onto a stretcher and swarming around Ethan.
"Sir, you're burned! Lie down!" a paramedic urged, applying a cold dressing to Ethan's arm.
Ethan pushed the paramedic's hands away, coughing up black soot, his eyes searching the crowd until he spotted Marcus Vance trying to quietly slip away toward his SUV.
Ethan stood up, his face covered in grime, his coat scorched and torn. He marched across the wet pavement, blocking Vance's path.
"You failed, Vance," Ethan rasped out, his voice raw from the smoke.
Vance looked at him in terror. "What?"
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Ethan reached into his inner breast pocket and pulled out a small, charred leather-bound notebook. He had grabbed it from the security desk near the entrance before the roof gave way—a handwritten logbook marked Bridgeport Facility Shift Logs - 2025.
"The night guard kept his own duplicate copy," Ethan said, holding up the burnt book. "And your name is written on every page."
