The Billionaire Firefighter

Chapter 11: Your Signature

Fire Chief Page had been sweating for forty minutes.

The Public Safety Committee had called him in at nine sharp and hadn't let up since. Three members, one long table, and a stack of documents that represented every maintenance log, equipment report, and budget decision Page had signed off on in the past three years. The questions came in rotation, calm and precise, the kind of questions that already knew the answers.

Why had SCBA unit maintenance been deferred across two consecutive fiscal cycles? Why had the proposed closure of Station 17 not been disclosed in the public safety report submitted to the municipal council last quarter? How had the wildfire in Los Vangees managed to expose gaps in protective gear that department records claimed had been addressed?

Page shifted his weight and kept his voice level. Sponsors were being finalized. The funding gap was temporary. These things took time.

He knew exactly how much time he had left. If the five million dollars in matching funds wasn't secured before this meeting ended, the state grant would expire. Station 17 would close. And the committee would need someone to hold accountable.

That someone would be him.

He leaned forward slightly.

"I can confirm that Jacob West has agreed in principle to provide five million dollars through a private foundation. The donation is being finalized as we speak." He paused for effect. "I can also confirm that the department is moving decisively to address the incident that occurred during the Los Vangees support operation."

The committee chair looked up. "You mean the rescue of Jacob West himself?"

"The situation is more complicated than the initial reports suggested." Page kept his tone measured. "According to our deputy captain's field report, the firefighter in question — Derek Moss — abandoned his designated area, disobeyed on-site command, and entered the Morelbu Hills property without authorization. Furthermore, the report indicates that Mr. West's prolonged hospitalization may be partly attributable to improper rescue methods used during the extraction."

The room was quiet for a moment.

"Mr. West is willing to make this donation," Page continued, "in recognition of Firefighter Moss's intentions. However, he has made clear that the funds cannot be released to a department that retains a reckless and undisciplined operator on its roster. If we want the money, we demonstrate that we maintain standards."

Before the committee could respond, the door opened.

Page's assistant leaned in and said quietly that the West Foundation representatives had arrived.

Page straightened. "Send them in." He added, almost as an afterthought: "And bring Moss in as well."

The assistant hesitated. "Sir, Firefighter Moss is—"

"Bring him in."

They filed in together — Victor, Fae, two lawyers, and Derek, who walked in last wearing the simple black coat, still moving with the careful steadiness of someone whose body hadn't finished deciding whether it was going to cooperate.

Christian and Zack had positioned themselves near the back wall. When Derek walked through the door, Christian's expression opened into something that wasn't quite a smile but functioned like one.

Page waited until Derek had taken a position near the center of the room. Then he looked at him across the table with the practiced authority of a man who had been staging moments like this for twenty years.

"Firefighter Moss. I'll ask you directly, on the record. Do you acknowledge that you disobeyed field command and entered the Morelbu Hills property without proper authorization during the Los Vangees County wildfire operation?"

Derek looked at him. "No. Under the circumstances I encountered, I chose the best available course of action. My decisions complied with emergency rescue protocols and were consistent with the signs of life confirmed by thermal imaging."

"That's not what the field report states."

"Then the field report is wrong."

Page's jaw tightened. He turned away from Derek with the smooth finality of someone closing a door, an ingratiating smile hung on his lips and directed his attention and his most cooperative expression toward Victor.

"The department appreciates the West Foundation's generosity," he said warmly. "As I've just made clear, Firefighter Moss's employment with Vendric County Fire Department is hereby terminated, effective immediately. With that matter resolved, I trust we can proceed with releasing the donation." He produced a pen and held it out with both hands, the gesture of a man obviously courting the favor of the other. "If you'd like to sign the funding agreement—"

Victor looked at the pen.

Then he turned away from Page entirely and stepped toward Derek. He held the pen out with both hands, and the gesture was identical except that it meant something different.

"Young Master." Victor's voice was calm and clear in the quiet room. "Mr. West's instructions were explicit. The five-million-dollar wildfire emergency donation to Vendric County Fire Department can only be authorized and released with your personal signature."

The room went absolutely still.

Page's hand, still extended with nothing in it, remained in the air for a moment, his expression warped into shock, his scalp numbed, his eyes couldn't believe what he was seeing.

At the back of the room, Christian's expression had stopped functioning as a smile, his face darkened considerably.

Derek looked at the pen in Victor's hand. Then he looked at Page. Then at the committee chair, who was watching him with an expression that had shifted from procedural to something considerably more alert.

Derek took the pen.