Chapter 8 - Nineteen People Before Sunrise
“Tomorrow morning?”
Vanessa grabbed the inspection report.
Her eyes moved rapidly down the page.
“That can't be right.”
Luca took it back.
“It's signed by the city's building inspector.”
“He told Grant we had more time.”
“Then Grant told you something that wasn't true.”
Vanessa looked toward the window.
For once, she didn't defend him.
Teresa sat on the edge of the sofa.
“Nineteen people,” she whispered.
I thought about Ada wearing a coat inside her apartment.
About Eli drawing dark windows.
And about the elderly residents trying to pack their belongings before daylight.
Luca crouched beside his mother.
“Mom, listen to me.”
She looked up.
“We're going to get them somewhere safe tonight.”
“With what money?”
“Mine.”
Teresa shook her head.
“That's not how the foundation is supposed to work.”
“I know. The foundation will make its decisions properly. But I'm not letting people freeze while we sort out our mistakes.”
She studied him.
Then nodded.
“All right.”
He turned toward Daniel.
“Find accessible hotel rooms close to the building. We need transportation, help with luggage, and somewhere residents can keep their medications safely.”
Daniel began coordinating the arrangements.
I offered to help organize the residents' needs.
Luca looked at me.
“Emily, you're off duty.”
“With respect, sir, I know some of those people from the foundation luncheons.”
He hesitated.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Teresa smiled.
“She dragged a chair across a ballroom for me. I don't think a few suitcases will frighten her.”
For the first time in twenty-four hours, Luca laughed.
It wasn't a long laugh.
But we needed it.
By midafternoon, we were back at Ashland Avenue.
The hallways were crowded with residents carrying bags.
Some were frightened.
Others were angry.
One woman refused to leave without her husband's framed photograph.
Another wanted to know whether her cat could come.
Luca made sure the hotel accepted pets.
Then he helped carry a wheelchair down the stairs.
I noticed his expensive black coat brushing against dusty walls.
He didn't seem to care.
Teresa stayed downstairs with Ada, making a list of anyone who needed assistance.
She wrote slowly, asking each person to repeat their name.
Not once did she describe them as cases.
They were neighbors.
People with histories.
People who wanted to know where they'd sleep.
Vanessa arrived carrying blankets and bottled water.
Several residents recognized her from the redevelopment meetings.
One older man asked whether she was the woman who wanted to raise their rent.
Vanessa went pale.
“Yes,” she said.
Then, after a pause, “I supported that plan.”
The man shook his head.
“My wife lived here until she died. I'm not leaving because somebody wants prettier windows.”
Vanessa swallowed.
“I understand.”
“No,” he said. “I don't think you do.”
She didn't argue.
Instead, she asked whether he needed help packing.
He stared at her.
Then handed her a cardboard box.
“Start with those books.”
Watching her carry them downstairs didn't erase what she'd done.
But it showed me she was finally seeing the people behind her plans.
Around four, a dark sedan stopped outside.
Carlo Bellini stepped out.
He was a distinguished man in his sixties, wearing a charcoal overcoat and an expression of controlled anger.
He found Luca beside the building entrance.
“You've turned a maintenance issue into a public spectacle.”
Luca looked at him.
“Your tenants are facing a safety evacuation.”
“My company has a relocation plan.”
“One that doesn't guarantee they can return.”
Carlo's face tightened.
“We're spending millions improving this property.”
“Then protect the people who live here.”
Carlo shook his head.
“You don't understand the financing.”
“Explain it.”
For several minutes, Carlo described loans, construction costs, and the money already committed to redevelopment.
His concerns weren't imaginary.
He stood to lose a great deal if the project failed.
But every solution he offered required the residents to surrender something.
Their leases.
Their affordable rents.
Their certainty.
Finally, Luca asked, “How much of the foundation's money were you expecting?”
Carlo hesitated.
“The proposed commitment was approximately one point four million dollars.”
I felt sick.
Sixty-four thousand had already been paid.
But more than a million dollars was being positioned for transfer.
Money donors had given to buy groceries, repair furnaces, and help older people remain independent.
Luca looked at Vanessa.
“Did you know?”
She nodded reluctantly.
“I believed the new program would qualify for the funding.”
“Restricted donations don't become unrestricted because you change the program's name,” Marian said.
She had arrived to help review the arrangements.
Carlo's expression darkened.
He turned toward his daughter.
“You told me this was settled.”
Vanessa stared at him.
“I told you the board was considering it.”
“You told me Luca supported it.”
She glanced at Luca.
Then lowered her eyes.
“I believed he did.”
Luca looked away.
The disappointment between them was painful to witness.
That evening, the residents were safely settled in temporary accommodations.
Ada and Eli had adjoining rooms with Eli's mother, who'd come directly from work.
The building was empty before the deadline.
But the foundation's problems were far from over.
Back at the mansion, Marian spread the authorization records across the dining table.
She'd obtained the payment register from the foundation's accounting office.
Grant Mercer had entered the sixty-four thousand as an emergency safety expense.
The description was misleading.
The payment had gone to the redevelopment company's planning account.
No completed safety work supported the invoice.
Vanessa had approved it.
But another authorization appeared beneath hers.
Luca stared at the page.
Then slowly sat down.
“What's wrong?” Teresa asked.
He didn't answer immediately.
He read the authorization twice.
Then he pressed his palms against the table.
“I thought I was allowing emergency repairs,” he said.
Marian looked at him.
“You signed temporary spending authority up to seventy-five thousand dollars.”
Luca nodded.
He'd signed without examining the contractor details.
And that approval had allowed the first payment to go through.
Teresa watched him carefully.
“Sweetheart?”
He raised his eyes.
There was no anger left in his expression.
Only shame.
“Mom, Vanessa misled you about retiring.”
He swallowed.
“But the money didn't leave the foundation because somebody forged my signature.”
May you like
He looked at the authorization.
“It left because I signed it myself.”
