Chapter 16 - Seventy-Two Hours
The warehouse had survived two storms and a break-in. Now an inspector reported a damaged staircase, exposed wiring, and a compromised rear wall. The hazards were real, Talia said, and the city was right to restrict access.
"We can't use it," I said.
"Not yet," she replied. "That doesn't mean it has to be demolished."
The land trust had little operating cash after the transfers. Donations to the Mercer name were suddenly toxic. We needed a qualified contractor, a structural engineer, and enough funding to begin approved stabilization before the deadline.
I called Mrs. Alvarez at the community center. "I don't want to promise something I can't deliver."
"Then tell us what you know," she said. "We'll decide what to do with it."
At a neighborhood meeting, I explained the situation without a glossy slide deck. I admitted the plans were delayed, the money was under investigation, and the building was unsafe. An electrician raised his hand. A retired carpenter offered contacts. A local engineering firm agreed to assess the site at reduced cost. None of that replaced permits or professional work, but it made a real stabilization proposal possible.
"Why are you helping?" I asked the carpenter.
"Because that's my block," he said. "And somebody finally asked us what we needed."
Claire arrived halfway through the meeting in jeans and a plain blue sweater. She stood in the back until the room cleared.
"I sold my engagement bracelet," she told me.
"Claire—"
"Evan and I postponed the wedding. We're working things out, or maybe we're not. That's ours to figure out. But the bracelet was mine, and I want the money used for the engineers. No publicity."
I studied her face. "You're not buying forgiveness."
"I know. I couldn't afford it anyway."
We almost smiled. It hurt.
With the restored trustee's authorization, a licensed contractor filed an emergency stabilization plan. The city accepted it for review and permitted limited supervised work after safety controls were installed. On the final afternoon, we received conditional permission to proceed.
I walked past the barricades and looked up at Grandma's sketches behind the upstairs window. For the first time, they felt like plans that might become walls.
May you like
Then a black SUV stopped across the street. Martin Pike stepped out, glanced at the work crew, and walked straight toward me.
"Richard wants to make a deal," he said. "And I suggest you hear it before the prosecutors do."
