He’d arrived early for his planned meeting with representatives of the insurance company that was still refusing to pay out his claim, due to the fact that the fire remained the subject of an ongoing investigation. Dane had made himself remain patient throughout the process, doing the right thing by paying all the medical bills of the injured out of Dane Corp’s coffers, figuring he’d be compensated in due time. But now due time had extended beyond two years, almost three. Not far away, maybe twenty miles, the Branch Davidian compound, under the fanatical leadership of David Koresh, had burned to the ground too, in a fire sparked literally by the FBI. So Dane couldn’t help but wonder if there was some curse or anomaly associated with the land. Kind of like a miniature version of the Bermuda Triangle. If you asked him, Dane would’ve said the FBI had been too patient and waited too long to move on the Branch Davidian compound. He hadn’t made the same mistake here, when the toxic effects of Dane Corp’s latest pesticide began to show up in people like the late Brandon McCabe, assigning to Pulsipher a job that should have come with relatively few complications.
