Chapter 3 - THE BUILDING THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE EMPTY
Richard canceled the investor meeting.
In twelve years, nobody could remember him doing that.
Daniel Crowe called three more times.
Richard ignored him.
Instead, he followed Isabella through a broken side entrance into Parcel C-17.
The smell hit first.
Damp concrete.
Mold.
Dust.
Cold air moving through unfinished walls.
No electricity.
No working plumbing.
Richard had toured abandoned properties before.
He had never imagined children living in one.
Isabella moved through it confidently.
She knew which stairs were cracked.
Which railing was loose.
Which corner flooded when it rained.
“Don't step there,” she warned.
Richard looked down.
A section of plywood covered a hole in the floor.
“You live on the third level?”
She nodded.
“With babies?”
“It gets less cold upstairs.”
Richard didn't tell her that heat usually rose in buildings that actually had heat.
They reached the apartment.
Apartment was generous.
Three concrete walls.
One unfinished opening where a fourth should have been.
A mattress.
Cardboard boxes.
Plastic bottles filled with water.
Children's clothes drying on a string.
And in one corner, the two baby beds made from produce boxes.
Richard felt ashamed.
He wasn't sure why.
He hadn't known.
But his company's logo was still visible on a faded construction banner outside.
ADAMS & ASSOCIATES — BUILDING CHICAGO'S FUTURE.
Some future.
Isabella set Michael down.
Richard stayed near the doorway.
“You can come in.”
“Thank you.”
“You're taking up the whole hall.”
He almost smiled.
The mobile pediatrician arrived twenty-five minutes later.
Dr. Melissa Kane had known Richard since college.
She took one look at him standing inside an abandoned building beside an eleven-year-old and said:
“I have several questions.”
“Later.”
“That's usually what criminals say.”
“Melissa.”
She saw Ryan.
Her joking stopped.
She examined both infants on the mattress.
Michael was underweight.
Ryan was worse.
Dehydrated.
Respiratory infection.
Possible pneumonia.
“He needs a hospital.”
Isabella immediately grabbed Ryan.
“No.”
Melissa stayed calm.
“Sweetheart—”
“No.”
Richard crouched beside her.
“You agreed.”
“To a doctor.”
“She is a doctor.”
“Not a hospital.”
Ryan started coughing.
This time he struggled to catch his breath afterward.
Isabella's face collapsed.
Melissa spoke gently.
“If we don't take him, he could get much sicker.”
“Will they take him away?”
“I don't control that.”
Isabella turned to Richard.
“You said you'd tell me.”
“I am.”
“Will they separate us?”
He could not lie.
“I don't know.”
She stood.
“Then no.”
Richard blocked the doorway without touching her.
“Isabella.”
“Move.”
“No.”
“You promised!”
“I promised not to trick you.”
“You are!”
“Ryan cannot breathe properly.”
“I can take care of him.”
“You've done more than anyone should have expected from you.”
“I can.”
“You shouldn't have to.”
That made her cry.
“You don't understand.”
Richard lowered his voice.
“Then explain it.”
“If they take them, they won't know me.”
He said nothing.
“If they put Michael somewhere and Ryan somewhere else, they'll cry at night.”
Her shoulders shook.
“They sleep better when their boxes touch.”
Melissa turned away for a moment.
Richard stared at the twins.
Boxes touching.
That was Isabella's entire child-welfare strategy.
Keep the boxes together.
“Then we make keeping them together the condition.”
Isabella looked at him.
“You can't.”
“I can pay attorneys.”
“You can't buy rules.”
Richard almost smiled.
“You'd be surprised how often people accuse me of trying.”
Melissa gave him a look.
He sobered.
“I can't promise what a judge will do.”
Isabella hugged Ryan.
“But I can promise you won't face it alone.”
She stared at him for a long time.
Finally:
“You'll come?”
“To the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
The ambulance arrived.
Richard followed in his BMW.
At the hospital, Ryan was diagnosed with pneumonia and moderate dehydration.
He needed oxygen.
Michael was admitted too because doctors feared nutritional complications.
Then came the questions.
A social worker named Joanne Miller sat across from Isabella.
“Where is your mother?”
“Dead.”
“When?”
“Four months ago.”
“Where?”
Isabella looked at Richard.
He had no idea.
Joanne softened.
“You're not in trouble.”
Isabella said nothing.
“Do you know where she died?”
“At Mercy House.”
Joanne frowned.
“The shelter?”
“Yes.”
Richard's attention sharpened.
“Your mother died in a homeless shelter?”
“She got sick.”
“What kind of sick?”
“Her chest hurt.”
“Did anyone call an ambulance?”
Isabella's eyes lowered.
“She didn't want them to.”
“Why?”
“She said somebody was looking for us.”
Richard felt a chill.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
Joanne took notes.
“What's your mother's full name?”
“Constance Bell.”
Richard froze.
He knew that name.
Not personally.
From a lawsuit.
Three years earlier, a woman named Constance Bell had filed a wrongful termination claim against Adams & Associates.
She had worked as a bookkeeping assistant on the original Green View acquisition.
The claim had disappeared before deposition.
Richard remembered Daniel telling him she'd accepted a settlement.
He hadn't thought about it again.
“What did your mother do before you became homeless?” Richard asked.
Isabella looked suspicious.
“Why?”
“Please.”
“She worked in construction offices.”
Richard's chest tightened.
“For Adams & Associates?”
Isabella stared.
“How do you know?”
Melissa entered before Richard could answer.
“Ryan is stable.”
Isabella stood.
“Can I see him?”
“In a minute.”
Joanne looked at Richard.
“You need to step outside with me.”
Richard followed her into the hallway.
“You know this family?”
“Apparently their mother worked for my company.”
“That complicates things.”
“How?”
“Because you cannot simply take responsibility for three minors because you feel guilty.”
Richard bristled.
“I don't feel guilty.”
Joanne raised an eyebrow.
“All right.”
He hated social workers already.
“What happens now?”
“We notify child protective services.”
“No.”
“Mr. Adams—”
“They'll separate them.”
“We don't know that.”
“Then make sure they don't.”
“You don't command the system.”
“I can provide housing.”
“That doesn't make you a guardian.”
“Then what does?”
“A court.”
He thought of Isabella asking him to take one baby.
“Find me the fastest legal route.”
Joanne studied him.
“You met them this morning.”
“Yes.”
“And now you want guardianship?”
“I want them not sleeping in boxes.”
“That is not the same thing.”
Richard knew she was right.
He hated that too.
His phone rang.
Daniel again.
This time Richard answered.
“What?”
“Where the hell are you?”
“At Children's Memorial.”
Silence.
“Why?”
“I found three children living inside Parcel C-17.”
Another silence.
Then Daniel said:
“That building was cleared.”
“No.”
“Richard—”
“Constance Bell's children.”
The line went quiet enough that Richard checked whether the call had dropped.
It hadn't.
Daniel finally said:
“Are you sure?”
Richard's eyes narrowed.
That was the wrong question.
Not Who is Constance Bell?
Not What happened?
Are you sure?
“You remember her.”
Daniel recovered quickly.
“She sued us.”
“You told me she settled.”
“She did.”
“Did she?”
“Of course.”
“Send me the settlement agreement.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
Richard ended the call.
Ten minutes later, Daniel emailed a PDF.
Richard opened it.
Settlement amount: $75,000.
Signed by Constance Bell.
Confidentiality clause.
Claim dismissed.
Everything looked normal.
Then Richard noticed the date.
Six months after Constance had supposedly lost her apartment.
He enlarged the signature.
Something about it bothered him.
That night, after Isabella fell asleep in a chair beside the twins' hospital room, Richard called his general counsel.
“Pull every original document connected to Constance Bell.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Is something wrong?”
Richard looked through the glass at Isabella sleeping with her head against Michael's crib.
“I think somebody inside my company paid seventy-five thousand dollars to a dead paper trail.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
Then Richard's phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A text.
If you care about those children, leave Constance Bell buried.
Richard stared at the screen.
A second message appeared.
May you like
Green View has already cost one mother her life. Don't make it cost her children too.
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