The judge issued an emergency order stopping further alterations and allowing security cameras to be installed.
Monica called it spying.
I called it protecting my property.
Part 2: The Fire
At mediation, Monica arrived carrying family photographs.
Her proposal was simple: I would surrender my ownership share, and they would allow me to collect my mother’s furniture.
Sandra asked what compensation I would receive for my equity.
“Her family,” Monica replied.
“I already paid enough for that,” I said.
The meeting ended within twenty-three minutes.
Shortly after midnight that evening, a security alert woke me. The rear camera showed Dylan carrying two red fuel cans toward the detached garage. Monica followed with a cardboard box.
She looked directly at the camera, pulled up her hood, and entered the garage.
Thirty seconds later, the camera went dark.
I called emergency services.
When I reached the neighborhood, fire engines blocked the street. Smoke escaped beneath the garage door. Police officers were questioning Monica and restraining Dylan.
Richard stood on the lawn in his pajamas, watching the firefighters.
One firefighter emerged carrying Monica’s cardboard box.
Inside were insurance documents, gloves, and a timer connected to a modified space heater.
Monica saw me behind the police tape.
“This is your fault!” she screamed.
Sandra arrived and looked at the smoke, officers, and evidence.
“No,” she said. “This is proof.”
The fire was stopped before it reached the main house.
Investigators discovered gasoline across the garage floor and oily rags near the wall. The insurance policy had been increased only six days earlier. Sections covering fire damage, temporary housing, and lost property had been highlighted.
Monica claimed she had entered because she smelled gasoline.
Dylan said the fuel was for the lawn mower.
The lawn mower was electric.
Security footage showed him removing the cans from Monica’s car. A neighbor’s camera recorded Monica purchasing the space heater shortly before the fire.
Richard insisted he knew nothing.
“I didn’t think she would do something like this,” he said.
He had repeated that excuse for years. He had not believed Monica would take my mother’s belongings, pressure me to support Dylan, or throw me out.
Every time, his surprise arrived after his silence had already helped her.
The insurance company froze the claim. The mortgage bank opened an investigation, and the court appointed a neutral receiver to control the property.
During the inventory, we discovered more of my mother’s possessions were missing: her silver tea set, two paintings, pearl earrings, and a box of old coins.
Pawnshop records showed Dylan had sold the silver. Monica had placed the paintings in a consignment store, and police found the earrings among her belongings.
The coins were never recovered.
Richard sat across from me in Sandra’s office, holding the pawnshop receipt.
“I didn’t know.”
“You lived in the house.”
“I should have asked.”
“Yes.”
It was the first time I answered without trying to protect his feelings.
Dylan eventually agreed to cooperate with prosecutors. He admitted Monica had planned the fire to delay the forced sale and collect insurance money. She promised him $15,000 and said no one would be injured because the garage was separate.
Investigators disagreed.
The garage shared a wooden wall with the kitchen. A few more minutes could have allowed the fire to enter the house while Richard slept upstairs.
