He was known to have a way with the ladies. When he was young, Martin Pang was known as a wanna be playboy. He knew how to wine and dine his paramours (on his parents dime).
But there was a dark side to his certain brand of charisma.
Who knows when that dark seed began to grow inside this lucky boy who’d been rescued at 6-months of age from a life of certain poverty and hardship. His adoptive parents doted on and loved this boy, making his every wish come true.
But that love, that attention, that ‘Martin can do no wrong’ devotion just wasn’t enough. It was never enough.
As Martin matured into adulthood, collecting a fat paycheck from the family business without doing a lick of work, that anger stoked by feelings of entitlement and greed continued to grow.
By the 1990s Martin racked up a few failed businesses, no doubt adding fuel to his rage. His latest career goal as an actor wasn’t working out, either.
He was getting desperate. What was a spoiled rich kid to do? The constant supply of little red envelopes filled with wads of cash began to dry up and the once successful family business that had fueled his exploits for decades had fallen on hard times.
Who knows when the idea hit him, Martin’s great plan at redemption, but one thing is for certain: It involved leaning in to his high school nickname, “Pyro Pang,” a nod to his reputation of threatening to torch the property of his perceived enemies.
His parents and the warehouse where they had toiled in for decades could give their golden boy one final sacrifice. By destroying the building, the insurance money would restore his easy street lifestyle.
It took just one match, set at the bottom corner of the old, dried plywood wall. Within minutes flames ignited, licking the walls of the old warehouse.
What Martin hadn’t planned for was the four Seattle fire fighters who would lose their lives battling the blaze, making it the worst tragedy in the history of the Seattle Fire Department.