The Billionaire Firefighter

Chapter 10: I Don't Sign Lies

Victor picked up on the second ring.

He'd already been busy. Before Derek had even asked to leave the hospital, Victor had tracked down the preliminary report Christian submitted to the department's disciplinary committee and what he found in it made him go very quiet on the phone.

The report stated that during the Los Vangees County wildfire, Derek Moss had left his assigned area without authorization, disobeyed field command, and entered a private villa in Morelbu Hills on his own initiative, exposing the rescue team to unnecessary danger. Christian had framed the rescue of Jacob West not as an act of courage but as a reckless personal decision that violated protocol.

Derek listened without speaking.

When Victor finished, he was quiet for a long time.

He had spent years believing that if his conscience was clean, the truth would eventually be seen. He'd believed that about Erin too. He'd believed it about the promotion, about the department, about people in general. And one by one, each of those beliefs had been quietly taken apart by a wife who'd used him as a prop, by a colleague who'd sent him to the most dangerous assignments to keep him down, by relatives who'd tried to use a dying man's identity to grab power.

If he didn't protect his own name, other people would write his story with lies.

"I'm going back," Derek said.

Fae looked up from across the room. "Your body hasn't healed. You were barely conscious yesterday."

"I know."

Victor said the West family situation was still unstable, that Jacob was still in the ICU, that this wasn't the right moment to walk into a firehouse looking for a fight.

"I'm not looking for a fight," Derek said. "I'm going to see how far they're willing to go."

Fae offered SUVs, lawyers, bodyguards. Derek shook his head. He didn't want to make the scene too large yet. He wanted to walk in as himself first.

He changed out of the hospital gown and put on a simple black coat. When he stood, his body protested in several specific places. He breathed through it and walked out.

The firehouse looked exactly the same.

Red brick, training yard, equipment racks along the far wall. The same smell of diesel and industrial cleaner and something underneath both that Derek had never been able to name but had always associated with the specific feeling of belonging somewhere. He'd trained here until his legs gave out. He'd rushed out of these bay doors two hundred and thirty-seven times.

He'd also been quietly pushed aside here, managed and diminished and assigned to die in other people's fires.

He walked into the garage hall.

The noise stopped.

Some of the firefighters looked at him like they hadn't expected him to be standing. Some met his eyes and then quickly found reasons to look elsewhere. A few watched him with something that might have been admiration, or guilt, or both.

Christian emerged from behind the crowd. He looked Derek up and down the black coat, the visible stiffness of a man whose body was still arguing with him  and smiled.

"Look who came back," Christian said. "I thought cowards usually hid longer."

Derek looked at him calmly. "Where's the report?"

Christian's smile widened. He took Derek's question as fear, which told Derek everything he needed to know about how this conversation was going to go.

He had someone bring the disciplinary documents. He laid them out with the satisfaction of a man who had been waiting for this moment. If Derek admitted to disobeying command and acting without authorization, he could leave with some dignity. Otherwise — suspension, full investigation, wages held, workers' compensation blocked, medical certificates pending review indefinitely.

Then Zack Reed appeared.

Derek remembered him as a clerk who used to hover near Christian's office. Now he had a title — Assistant Administrative Officer — and a uniform pressed with the enthusiasm of someone who had recently discovered authority. He walked to the table and deliberately dropped a stack of documents onto it, the sound landing loud in the quiet hall.

"You're under investigation," Zack said. "You don't get the normal process."

Derek looked at the documents.

The conclusion had already been written before he'd arrived. His injuries: personal misconduct. Workers' compensation: likely refused. His entry into the villa: unauthorized perimeter breach. The rescue itself: reckless personal act. Disciplinary punishment: mandatory.

Then he saw the attachment.

A spousal welfare statement. He read it once and read it again because the first time his mind refused to fully process it.

Erin had submitted a risk warning before his deployment. It stated that Derek had experienced a serious family conflict prior to the mission. That his emotional state may have made him prone to high-risk decision-making. That if any reckless choices were made in the field, the department should factor his psychological condition into the investigation.

Before he'd even walked out the door with his suitcase, she had already prepared the charges.

Zack slid a pen across the table.

"Sign it. At least you'll still get something."

Christian leaned against the wall. "Or don't. Then we'll see how long a hero lasts without a paycheck."

Derek picked up the pen.

The room waited.

He set it back down. He pushed the documents away gently, the way you move something that doesn't deserve your anger.

"I don't sign lies."

Christian's face darkened. Zack immediately threatened, all procedures frozen, every pending document held in review, nothing processed until Derek cooperated.

Derek didn't respond. He turned and walked out of the administrative office.

In the hallway, two clerks were talking in low voices near the far window. He caught fragments as he passed. State emergency grant. Matching funds. Station 17. Expiration date.

He slowed without stopping.

The department was five million dollars short of qualifying for a state wildfire emergency grant. The Los Vangees fire had exposed critical equipment failures aging breathing apparatus, insufficient thermal cameras, delayed maintenance on ladder trucks, serious gaps in protective gear. The state was prepared to release a large grant, but Vendric County had to provide the matching funds first.

Without it, Station 17 would likely be shut down.

Derek walked outside into the cold air.

He stood there for a moment, looking at nothing in particular.

Christian could abuse his authority. Zack could bury people in paperwork. But the real levers in a place like this were money, audits, and committees. And right now, the department needed five million dollars it didn't have.

He took out his phone and called Victor.

Victor picked up immediately.

Derek didn't waste words. "Don't cancel the donation."

Victor was quiet for a moment. "You heard what Christian just said in there."

"I heard him." Derek looked back at the firehouse, the red brick, the bay doors, the building that had been his second home and his cage at the same time. "Page needs that money today or he answers to the committee. Christian needs Page to stay in power or he loses his cover. And both of them just told this entire department that Jacob West's donation depends on my head." He paused. "Let them believe that. Don't touch the money. Don't cancel anything."

"Derek—"

"They've already shown me exactly how far they'll go." His voice was steady. "Now I want them to show the committee."

Victor was silent for a long moment.

"I'll make some calls," he said finally.

Derek put the phone away and stood in the cold air outside the station he'd given years of his life to. Somewhere behind those walls, Christian was already congratulating himself. Page was already rehearsing his speech for the committee. Zack was already preparing the termination paperwork.

Let them prepare.