Chapter 6 - THE MAN MY FATHER SAVED
Daniel Price lived in a modest house on Chicago's Southwest Side.
He was sixty-two, widowed, and employed as a maintenance supervisor for a company controlled by Vincent DeLuca.
According to public records, he had worked for three different DeLuca-affiliated firms since the fire.
The connection disturbed me.
My father had died trying to save Daniel.
Why would the surviving worker spend fifteen years working for someone suspected of concealing the circumstances of that death?
I wanted to drive to his house immediately.
Maya refused.
"We don't know whether he's a witness, a participant, or someone being pressured."
"Then we ask."
"We ask carefully."
She contacted Inspector Ruiz, who agreed that Daniel's testimony could be important.
An investigator would arrange an interview.
That was the sensible approach.
It was also painfully slow.
Two days passed.
During those two days, Mercer Avenue became the center of a public argument.
Some residents wanted to fight.
Others wanted to accept relocation payments before the dispute destroyed their savings.
I couldn't blame them.
One family had a child with asthma.
Another had a grandfather recovering from surgery.
They couldn't gamble with their housing simply because I believed the developer was lying.
The coalition arranged independent legal consultations.
We made it clear that nobody would be punished or judged for choosing to move.
Adrian's company supplied temporary heating equipment for two common areas and paid for an independent engineer to assess reported safety problems.
The work was reviewed by the tenants' attorneys.
I refused to let a rescue effort become another way of controlling the residents.
Adrian accepted every condition.
He didn't ask for gratitude.
He didn't ask me to come home.
Since the confrontation at the storage building, I had been staying with Maya and her husband.
My doctor approved the arrangement after checking my blood pressure and reminding me to rest.
Every evening, Adrian sent one message asking how the baby and I were doing.
I answered honestly.
SHE'S FINE.
SO AM I.
Sometimes he replied with nothing more than a heart.
I never responded to that.
On Thursday afternoon, Inspector Ruiz called.
"Mrs. DeLuca, we spoke with Daniel Price."
I sat up.
"What did he say?"
"He confirmed that your father helped him escape the annex."
My eyes burned.
"Did he identify who locked the rear exit?"
"He says he didn't see."
"Do you believe him?"
"Not completely."
I waited.
Ruiz continued.
"He also told us he left the DeLuca maintenance company six months ago."
I frowned.
"His employment records still show him there."
"According to Daniel, he has been on indefinite paid leave."
"Why?"
"He wouldn't explain."
I looked toward the maintenance diagram on my desk.
"Did you ask about the Mercer Avenue boiler room?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"He became visibly distressed."
"Why?"
"Then he asked for an attorney."
I closed my eyes.
"Can I speak to him?"
"Not until we've clarified whether he may have criminal exposure."
I understood.
But frustration burned through me.
A man who had survived the fire knew something about the building where fifty families still lived.
And he was afraid to talk.
That evening, a woman arrived at Maya's office.
She was around sixty, elegantly dressed, with silver jewelry and a nervous expression.
She introduced herself as Renee Grant.
Sophia's mother.
I had seen her once at a charity event.
She had smiled politely and spent most of the evening sitting alone.
Now she stood in the doorway holding a faded blue envelope.
"Mrs. DeLuca, I need to speak to you."
Maya appeared beside me.
"About what?"
Renee looked toward the street.
"Mercer Avenue."
We invited her into the conference room.
She sat with the envelope clutched against her chest.
"My daughter doesn't know I'm here."
I remained standing.
"Why did you come?"
"Because Sophia is making the same mistake I made."
"What mistake?"
Renee swallowed.
"Believing Vincent DeLuca will protect her."
I sat across from her.
"How do you know Vincent?"
"I worked as an accountant for the Mercer Community Housing Trust."
The room became quiet.
"When?"
"From 2004 until 2011."
My pulse quickened.
"You handled the trust's financial records?"
"Yes."
"Did you know Raymond Bennett?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"He was the reason I finally tried to tell the truth."
I looked toward Maya.
She opened her notebook.
Renee began slowly.
"The trust was established to preserve affordable housing at Mercer Avenue."
"The blue ledger says that."
"Then you found it."
She lowered her head.
"I wondered whether it still existed."
"What happened to the money?"
"Some was spent properly."
"How much?"
"More than half."
"And the rest?"
"Diverted through companies Vincent controlled or influenced."
"Why?"
"He was financing property acquisitions."
I stared at her.
"With housing money?"
"Yes."
She wiped her eyes.
"At first, he described the transfers as temporary loans."
"And later?"
"He stopped pretending."
Maya leaned forward.
"Did you approve them?"
Renee closed her eyes.
"I processed them."
The admission hung between us.
"Then you're involved," I said.
"Yes."
She didn't deny it.
Didn't make excuses.
"I signed financial statements that I knew were misleading."
I looked at her.
"My father found out."
"He did."
"What happened?"
"Raymond confronted me."
Her voice trembled.
"He had compared actual building repairs with invoices paid by the trust."
"Did he threaten you?"
"No."
She shook her head.
"He offered to help me tell the truth."
The answer almost broke me.
That was exactly what my father would have done.
"He said the residents deserved the money more than Vincent deserved his reputation."
Renee reached for the envelope.
"I started making copies of the accounts."
She placed several pages on the table.
Old transfer authorizations.
One bore Vincent's signature.
Another carried Nathan Pryce's name.
I frowned.
"Nathan Pryce was involved in 2011?"
Renee nodded.
"He was a junior financial officer at Westbridge Capital."
"Mercer Development's current chief financial officer?"
"The same man."
The pattern was becoming clearer.
Vincent had controlled the original housing trust.
Nathan had handled transfers through Westbridge.
Now Nathan represented the development company trying to acquire the property.
"Where does Sophia fit into this?" I asked.
Renee began crying.
"My daughter was nineteen when I lost my job."
"What happened?"
"Vincent discovered I had copied the records."
"Did he threaten you?"
"He threatened to report me for fraud."
Maya frowned.
"You were involved in fraud."
"I know."
Renee looked at her.
"But he offered me a choice."
"What choice?"
"Keep quiet and continue receiving financial support, or face prosecution alone."
I looked down.
"Your daughter knows?"
"Not everything."
"Does she know you falsified trust records?"
"Yes."
"And now she's helping Vincent?"
Renee nodded.
"She believes he's the only person who can keep me out of prison."
I felt anger rise.
"Then why forge my organization's approval?"
Renee looked miserable.
"Because Vincent told her the redevelopment had to move forward before anyone could reopen the old accounts."
"Why now?"
"The property's value has increased dramatically."
She paused.
"But that's not the whole reason."
I leaned forward.
"What else?"
"The trust agreement contains a provision Vincent has been trying to remove for years."
"The resident-benefit provision?"
Renee nodded.
"Under the original arrangement, the trust retained an enforceable interest tied to the property's continued use and certain proceeds if it was sold."
"How much?"
"I don't know what a court would determine today."
"How much was it worth when you worked there?"
She took a breath.
"Several million dollars."
"And now?"
Renee looked at me.
"With the proposed redevelopment, potentially tens of millions."
My stomach tightened.
The residents weren't simply obstacles occupying valuable property.
They might be among the people entitled to benefit from it.
Maya leaned closer.
"Who controls the trust?"
"Vincent effectively controlled the administrators."
"Legally?"
"That is exactly what Raymond questioned."
Renee wiped her cheeks.
"He believed Vincent had exceeded the authority granted to him."
I opened the old deed.
"Can you identify this?"
She studied it.
Then she covered her mouth.
"Where did you find that?"
"Locker 214."
Her hands began shaking.
"That's Helena's copy."
"How do you know?"
"Because she marked the margin in blue ink."
Renee pointed to a tiny handwritten symbol beside the parcel description.
A capital H inside a circle.
"She used that mark when reviewing trust documents."
I stared at the paper.
"Why?"
"To distinguish records she'd verified from copies supplied by Vincent."
Maya photographed the notation.
"Did Helena know about the diverted money?"
Renee nodded.
"She found out shortly before the fire."
"Did she report it?"
"She tried."
"To whom?"
"A lawyer."
"Name?"
"Arthur Bell."
Maya wrote it down.
"Is he alive?"
"Yes."
"He retired about six years ago."
I turned back to Renee.
"What happened after the fire?"
"Everything stopped."
"Why?"
"The original ledger disappeared."
"And your copies?"
"Vincent's people took what they could find."
I studied the envelope.
"Then how do you still have these?"
Renee lowered her voice.
"Because I kept them somewhere he would never search."
"Where?"
"In my daughter's childhood Bible."
I looked at her.
"Why bring them now?"
Renee stared at me.
"Because yesterday Sophia told me she had signed off on a document using your name."
My heart pounded.
"She admitted that?"
"She said it was the only way to keep the property vote moving."
"And you believed her?"
"No."
Renee shook her head.
"I knew what Vincent was doing."
"What?"
"Using her fear for me the same way he used mine."
The confession did not make Sophia innocent.
But it explained why she had been willing to risk forging the approval.
Renee leaned across the table.
"Claire, I came here because I don't want another person to die protecting those apartments."
I felt my daughter move beneath my hand.
"Is someone planning to hurt the residents?"
"I don't know."
Her voice broke.
"But Daniel Price called me three nights ago."
I froze.
"What did he say?"
"He said Vincent had ordered a contractor to inspect the old boiler room."
I glanced at the maintenance diagram.
"And?"
"He said they weren't looking for a mechanical problem."
"What were they looking for?"
Renee swallowed.
"Something Raymond hid before the fire."
I looked at the red circle on the diagram.
"Inside the wall?"
She nodded.
"Daniel said if Vincent found it first, the last surviving evidence of what happened in 2011 would disappear."
Maya stood.
"We need to tell Inspector Ruiz."
Renee caught her wrist.
"There's more."
She opened the final page in the envelope.
It was a photocopy of an old insurance claim.
The maintenance annex fire.
The claim described the building as unoccupied when the fire began.
I stared at it.
"My father and Helena were inside."
Renee nodded.
"Daniel was there too."
The insurer had paid out a substantial settlement.
The recipient was Northline Facilities.
Beneath the payment authorization was the name of the person who certified the building had been empty.
MARSHALL VOSS.
I felt cold.
He had locked the exit.
He had certified the building was empty.
And his company had collected money after the fire.
Renee looked directly at me.
"Claire, your father's death wasn't just covered up."
She swallowed.
"Someone made money from the fire."
May you like
And suddenly the question wasn't only who had stolen the housing trust's funds.
It was whether the fire had been used to destroy evidence of the theft.
