Chapter 5 - The Building with No Heat
Marcus never showed Alder Court to investors.
A flickering light hung above its mailboxes. A hand-lettered sign warned residents that the elevator was out again. On the fourth floor, somebody had taped a blanket over a window that wouldn't close.
I stood beside Dani in the parking lot, looking at a crew loading rusted boiler parts into an unmarked truck.
"Who ordered this?" I asked the foreman.
He wouldn't give his name. "Private job. Talk to management."
"There's an inspection scheduled," I said. "Those parts may be evidence."
He slammed the truck door. "Lady, I just do what I'm told."
Dani recorded the plate number while I called Mara. The building inspector arrived and halted the unpermitted work. Fifteen minutes later, a city vehicle rolled into the lot.
A woman with a little girl at her side watched from the entrance. Her name was Rosa Alvarez. The girl, Lucy, wore a purple coat with one broken zipper.
"You're Mrs. Vale," Rosa said. It wasn't a compliment.
"I am."
"Your company said we could run space heaters. Mine caught fire. We slept in the car two nights last winter." She touched Lucy's hair. "I sent six complaints. They marked every one resolved."
I wanted to say I hadn't known. It was true, but it felt too small to matter.
"Can I see the complaints?" I asked.
She studied my face, the faint bruise near my jaw. "What happened to you?"
"Someone decided I should be quiet."
"Then you know how it feels."
Inside her apartment, the kitchen ceiling was stained brown from a leak. A child's drawing of a happy house hung on her fridge. Rosa told me her neighbor, Walter Pierce, had died after a faulty heater filled his apartment with carbon monoxide. Management said he'd caused it by misusing the equipment.
"Walter used to fix bicycles for the kids," Lucy whispered.
"He never charged us," Rosa added. "When he heard my daughter coughing through the wall, he brought us his own little heater. He had less than anyone in this building, but somehow he always found something to give."
Rosa opened a battered folder. "He'd been begging for repairs for months. I've got copies."
Among the papers was a dated inspection request with a familiar signature on the acknowledgment line.
Arthur Vale.
Beneath it, in thick black ink, someone had written: Do not escalate. Exposure unacceptable.
May you like
Rosa watched me read it.
"Tell me," she said. "Is that how your family saves money?"
