Chapter 5: Ashes of a Liar

Chapter 5: Ashes of a Liar

The next morning, the air at Station 12 was thick with unspoken words. The digital firestorm had burned through the night, leaving a smoldering silence in its wake. Every firefighter who walked in for the morning shift had seen the forum, had read the comments, had felt the collective rage of the department. They moved with a heavy quiet, the usual boisterous banter replaced by terse nods and glances that lingered a moment too long on Leo. He felt their eyes on him, a mixture of suspicion and a strange, unvoiced respect. He simply focused on his morning checks, his movements methodical, his face an unreadable mask.

Aaron Vance’s gleaming pickup truck was conspicuously absent from the parking lot. His spot, usually the one closest to the door, sat empty like a missing tooth.

Clara found Leo by the hose racks, her expression a careful blend of curiosity and concern. "Quite a night online," she said, her voice low. "Whoever did that didn't mess around. It's all anyone is talking about."

Leo just grunted, yanking a coupling tight. "People get what they deserve."

His non-denial hung in the air between them. Clara’s perceptive blue eyes studied him for a long moment, and then a slow, understanding smile touched her lips. She didn't press him. She just nodded once, a silent affirmation of their alliance, and went back to her work.

The tension finally broke around 0900 hours. A black department SUV, the one reserved for the Battalion Chief, pulled quietly into the lot. A few minutes later, Aaron’s truck arrived. He didn't swagger from the cab this time. He emerged slowly, his shoulders slumped, the peacock’s feathers thoroughly plucked. His face was pale and drawn, his perfectly styled hair looking limp and defeated.

He tried to slip into the station unnoticed, but every head turned. The silence was deafening, a heavy blanket of judgment. He flinched, his eyes darting around like a cornered animal, refusing to meet anyone's gaze.

Lieutenant Rivas emerged from her office. She stood in the middle of the bay, her arms crossed, her expression carved from granite. The Battalion Chief stood just behind her, a silent, imposing witness.

“Vance,” Amy’s voice was flat, devoid of all warmth. It wasn’t a command, it was a summons. “My office. Now.”

Aaron followed her like a condemned man walking to the gallows. The door to her office clicked shut, the sound unnaturally loud in the silent station. The crew tried to busy themselves with tasks, but no real work was done. Everyone was listening, waiting.

Twenty minutes later, the door opened. Aaron stumbled out, his face white as a sheet. His bravado, the carefully constructed armor of arrogance and charm he wore every day, had been utterly annihilated. He was just a boy, stripped bare and disgraced. He didn't look at anyone as he walked, zombie-like, to his locker. He began to clear it out, his movements jerky and clumsy, stuffing his pristine uniform shirts and personal items into a gym bag.

Amy’s voice cut through the quiet again. “Martinez. My office.”

Leo’s heart gave a single, hard thump against his ribs. He walked past the ghost of Aaron Vance and into the small, cluttered office. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing him in with his mentor.

On her desk, sitting starkly against the green blotter, was one of the manila envelopes. His manila envelope.

Amy didn't ask him to sit. She stood, her short stature seeming to fill the entire room. She looked tired, her eyes holding a deep, complicated hurt that twisted a knife in Leo’s gut.

"I have one question for you, Leo," she said, her voice dangerously quiet. "Did you do this?"

There was no point in lying. He had gone into this knowing this moment would come. He met her gaze directly. "Yes, Lieutenant. I did."

A muscle in her jaw tightened. "You went outside the chain of command. You took department business and you aired it out like dirty laundry in a public square. You created a firestorm you had no way of controlling. Do you have any idea how much trouble you could be in? How much trouble you've caused for me?"

"I do," Leo said, his own voice steady. "But I also know that he was a danger to this crew. And he disrespected you. He disrespected everything this station stands for."

He took a breath, the words pouring out now. "It wasn't just the comment about your apple crumble, LT. Though that's what started it. It was the lies. Claiming he was a hero at that MVA on the interstate. Lying about his role in the kitchen fire. And then, on that entrapment call... he froze. He was a liability. He was going to get someone hurt. I saw it."

Amy listened, her expression unreadable. For a long, tense moment, she said nothing. She walked to the window, looking out at the bay where Aaron was now dropping his pager and station keys onto the watch desk with a final, pathetic clatter.

"I saw it too, Leo," she finally said, her back still to him. Her voice was softer now, laced with regret. "On that entrapment call. I knew he was a problem. I was building a case. Documenting it. Going through the proper channels."

She turned to face him, and the anger was gone, replaced by a weary disappointment. "You didn't trust me to handle it."

"It wasn't that," Leo said quickly, feeling the sting of her words. "I trusted you. I just... I couldn't stand seeing him get away with it for another minute. He was using our family, our honor, as a costume. I had to rip it off him."

Amy held his gaze, and he saw a flicker of understanding, a hint of the mama bear who fiercely protected her own. She was his commander, and she was angry at his methods. But she was also his mentor, and she understood his heart.

"What you did was reckless and insubordinate," she said, her tone firm again, the commander back in charge. "And we are going to have a very long conversation about trust and protocol. But..." she sighed, rubbing her temples. "You were right about him. You cut out the cancer. Just don't ever pull a stunt like this again. Are we clear?"

"Crystal, LT," Leo said, a wave of relief so powerful it almost buckled his knees.

He walked out of the office. Aaron was gone. The air in the station already felt cleaner, lighter. The oppressive weight of his presence had lifted.

Later that afternoon, after the Battalion Chief had left and the station had returned to a semblance of its normal rhythm, the smell of chocolate began to fill the air. Leo was checking the inventory on the medical supplies when Amy emerged from the station kitchen. She was carrying a pan of brownies, still warm from the oven.

She walked to the communal table and set them down. She cut a thick square, slid it onto a plate, and pushed it across the table toward Leo. Their eyes met. Nothing more needed to be said. The reckless act was forgiven, the bond between mentor and protégé reforged in the ashes of a liar, stronger than before.

Leo took the plate. He took a bite of the brownie. It was rich and warm, and it tasted like home. It tasted like loyalty. It tasted like an honor that had been truly, and finally, earned.