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A sinister smile curled at the corners of his lips as he envisioned the downfall of Waverly Junction, the satisfaction of seeing their power crumble beneath his feet.
“They may have thought they could silence us, bury us beneath their bureaucracy and red tape. But they underestimated me, underestimated what I'm willing to do to protect what's rightfully mine. And mark my words, I'll tear down every last one of them, brick by brick, until there's nothing left but dust and ashes.”
But as he glanced at the stack of papers on his desk—the plans for his next fire, the evidence of his meticulously planned revenge—he wondered, was this truly justice, or had he become the very thing he despised?
* * *
Monday, October 23rd
As Jackson reclined in his hospital bed, the door creaked open, and Sophie, accompanied by Jackson's doctor, entered the room. The doctors’ presence brought a sense of anticipation, and Jackson straightened up slightly, ready to hear what they had to say.
“How are you feeling today?” the doctor asked with a warm smile, her eyes scanning his chart as she approached the bedside.
Jackson shifted slightly, adjusting his position to make himself more comfortable. “Better, I think,” he replied, still sounding fatigued. “The pain's manageable with the oral medication. And I’m breathing okay.” He coughed and winced, then shrugged his good shoulder.
The doctor nodded, her expression thoughtful. “That's good to hear. I think, medically, the best thing for you is to rest, something hospitals are not well equipped to offer,” she said. “How do you feel about going home?”
Jackson's eyes widened with surprise at the suggestion. “I'd like that,” he admitted, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
The doctor's smile widened at his response. “Excellent. Do you have someone who can watch over you at home?”
Jackson's gaze shifted to Liv, who stood by his side. “I'll take care of him,” she said firmly, her eyes meeting the doctor's. “He can count on me.” She leaned in and kissed his nose.
Sophie chuckled at Liv's eagerness, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she joined in. “I'll help too,” she offered.
The doctor nodded, her expression approving. “It sounds like you'll be in good hands,” she said with a smile. “I'll make the necessary arrangements for your discharge, Jackson. You should be able to head home later today.”
“Thanks, Doc.” Jackson sagged back into the bed.
* * *
As Jackson drifted into a deep and much-needed sleep, the flurry of activity in Charlotte's living room continued unabated. Martha agreed to participate. Brad, Turk, and Luke had stayed to assist with getting Jackson settled and were now ready to dive into the investigation with renewed purpose. Sophie, Molly, Ruthie, and Isobel had joined forces.
As Isobel disappeared into the garage and returned with an old easel, the group sprang into action, setting up a large sketch pad and positioning it prominently in the center of the room.
“We need to map out everything we know,” Brad declared, his voice firm with resolve as he surveyed the group. “Every piece of evidence, every lead, every connection—we need to lay it all out in front of us so we can see the bigger picture. Hopefully it will lead us to him. He’s not using his department car, and he’s not at his apartment. I’ve assigned people to keep watch.”
Turk and Luke nodded in agreement, their expressions focused as they prepared to tackle what they knew. Sophie and Molly exchanged a glance, their determination mirrored in each other's eyes as they took their places beside the sketch pad.
The group began to brainstorm, their ideas flowing freely as they pieced together the puzzle of the Waverly Junction fires. Brad recounted the latest developments in the investigation—the partial print found on the evidence collected by Liv, the connection to Michael Wheaton, and the revelation of Jackson's true parentage.
Liv looked between the list of fires and a photo of Jackson. “I think two things are going on here.” She paused. “First, I think Michael's jealousy of Jackson is a key factor in all of this. And second,” her brow furrowed in thought, “there seems to be a deep hatred toward the town council, particularly stemming from the events of 1979. What happened in 1979?”
Brad's expression darkened at the mention of the year. He looked at Charlotte and Martha. “Do you remember if there was a scandal involving the town council—a scandal that rocked Waverly Junction? Think—something considered a scandal then may not be a scandal by today’s standards.”
“And we need to connect the scandal to some trigger now,” Liv said, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.
Liv sat across from Charlotte and Martha. “Martha, when you were telling Jackson and me about Rainey Ashcroft, you said that an unwed pregnancy in 1979 was a scandal. Was there another unwed pregnancy at that time?”
“I totally forgot,” Charlotte admitted with a hint of regret. “Martha, do you remember Emily Moore?”
Martha's brows furrowed. “Yes, she was an accountant. She wanted to get involved on the council; she saw herself as part of the women’s rights movement. She ran a lively campaign and won. All of a sudden, she turned up pregnant. I don’t mean it quite that way. There was a lot of speculation as to who the father was. The community was cruel to her. She had the baby and gave it up for adoption. Whatever happened to her?”
Charlotte shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Did anyone ever find out who the father was?” Liv asked.
Martha shook her head. “No, it was all speculation. But with the baby gone, Emily kept quiet about it, and eventually, the rumors faded away.”
