Chapter 5 - THE BILLIONAIRE MOVES IN
At six o’clock that evening, three black SUVs pulled up outside 417 Mercer Street.
Residents filled the windows.
Grace stood on the sidewalk with her arms crossed.
“This is subtle.”
Nathaniel stepped from the first vehicle.
“I wasn’t aiming for subtle.”
Six private security officers followed.
Then electricians.
Plumbers.
A mold-remediation team.
Two heating technicians.
A structural engineer.
A pediatric nurse.
And a catering van.
Grace stared.
“What did you do?”
“I made calls.”
“This looks like you invaded the neighborhood.”
Nathaniel glanced at the vehicles.
“It may be excessive.”
“May be?”
Lucy appeared in the doorway.
“Are they police?”
“No,” Grace said.
Lucy pointed at Nathaniel.
“Are they his army?”
Nathaniel considered.
“Temporarily.”
Grace groaned.
Within an hour, the building changed.
Not physically.
Not yet.
But the atmosphere did.
Broken locks were replaced.
Portable heaters were delivered.
Doctors checked Tyler and three other children with respiratory problems.
Food arrived.
Real food.
Enough for every resident.
Not leftovers.
Nathaniel had ordered dinner from one of Philadelphia’s best restaurants.
When the trays entered the community room, Grace stopped them.
“What?”
“Take half back.”
Nathaniel stared.
“Why?”
“Because this isn’t a charity photo opportunity.”
His expression hardened.
“I didn’t bring cameras.”
“I know.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“People here don’t need lobster macaroni.”
Nathaniel looked at the tray.
“It sounded good.”
“Of course it sounded good. It costs forty dollars.”
“Thirty-eight.”
“That is not helping your argument.”
Grace pointed toward the kitchen.
“Tomorrow we buy groceries from neighborhood stores.”
“We?”
“If you’re actually doing this.”
Nathaniel smiled faintly.
“You’ve promoted yourself.”
“I can resign.”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Grace noticed.
Nathaniel looked away.
That evening, he ate at the children’s table.
At first nobody spoke to him.
Then Tyler asked, “How many houses do you have?”
Nathaniel swallowed.
“Several.”
“How many?”
“Five.”
The children erupted.
“FIVE?”
Lucy looked horrified.
“Why?”
Nathaniel had no good answer.
“They’re in different cities.”
“Hotels exist,” Maya said.
Grace coughed to hide a laugh.
Nathaniel pointed his fork at her.
“You are enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
Tyler continued.
“Do you have a pool?”
“Yes.”
“At all the houses?”
Nathaniel hesitated.
“Most.”
Maya shook her head.
“Rich people are weird.”
Nathaniel could not argue.
After dinner, an FBI public-corruption task force contacted Rebecca Sloan.
The meeting would happen the following morning.
Nathaniel expected to return to his estate.
Instead he found himself standing outside Grace’s apartment door at Mercer.
She had never told him she lived there too.
He discovered it when she climbed the stairs with groceries.
“You live here?”
“Sometimes.”
“What does that mean?”
“I have a small apartment across town.”
“Then why stay here?”
“When things are bad, I sleep here.”
“Things appear to have been bad for a while.”
“Yes.”
Her apartment contained almost nothing.
A mattress.
A folding table.
Books.
A photograph on the windowsill.
Nathaniel picked it up.
A younger Grace stood beside an older woman wearing a restaurant uniform.
“Your mother?”
Grace took the photograph gently.
“My foster mother.”
Nathaniel looked at her.
“You said someone once helped you.”
Grace nodded.
“Her name was Margaret Bennett.”
He sat in the folding chair.
Grace leaned against the counter.
“My biological mother died when I was seven. My father had already disappeared. I went through three foster homes in two years.”
Nathaniel listened.
“One of them locked the pantry.”
His expression changed.
Grace looked toward the photograph.
“I learned to hide crackers under my mattress.”
Tyler hiding bread.
Nathaniel understood.
“Margaret took me when I was nine.”
“She was a cook?”
“At a hospital cafeteria.”
Grace smiled.
“She had no money. Her apartment was tiny. She wore the same winter coat for fifteen years.”
“But?”
“She fed everyone.”
Her voice softened.
“Kids from school. Neighbors. People from church. If someone was hungry, Margaret found a plate.”
Nathaniel looked at the photograph.
“What happened to her?”
“Cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She died when I was twenty-four.”
Grace folded her arms tightly.
“I became a chef because of her.”
“And Mercer?”
“Margaret lived two blocks away.”
Nathaniel looked around.
“This neighborhood raised you.”
“Yes.”
“And now my company is demolishing it.”
“Trying.”
Something about the word made him smile.
“You really were planning to fight me.”
“I still might.”
Nathaniel’s smile faded into something warmer.
“I believe you.”
A loud crash came from the hallway.
Grace moved first.
They ran outside.
A window at the end of the corridor had shattered.
A brick lay on the floor.
Wrapped around it was a paper.
Nathaniel unfolded it.
LAST WARNING.
Grace whispered, “Nathaniel.”
He smelled something.
Gasoline.
Then someone screamed downstairs.
“Fire!”
The basement erupted.
Smoke rolled through the stairwell.
Children screamed from multiple apartments.
Nathaniel grabbed Grace’s arm.
“Get them out.”
She ran upward.
Nathaniel went down.
The basement door was already burning.
Flames climbed the wall near electrical panels.
A security officer rushed toward him.
“Sir, get outside.”
“Cut power.”
“We don’t know whether—”
“Do it!”
Sprinklers did not activate.
Of course they did not.
Nathaniel grabbed a fire extinguisher.
Smoke thickened.
Above him, feet thundered down stairs.
Grace shouted children’s names.
“Lucy! Tyler! Stay with Maya!”
Nathaniel sprayed the base of the flames.
Another extinguisher joined him.
Then another.
Sirens wailed outside.
Within minutes firefighters took over.
Residents spilled onto the street in pajamas, coats, blankets.
Nathaniel emerged coughing.
Grace grabbed him.
“Where were you?”
“Basement.”
“You went toward the fire?”
“So did the firefighters.”
“You’re not a firefighter!”
“You went upstairs.”
“There were children!”
“There were gas lines!”
They stood inches apart, furious because they had been afraid.
Maya approached.
“Tyler’s missing.”
Everything stopped.
Grace turned.
“What?”
“He was behind me.”
“Where did you last see him?”
“Second floor.”
Grace ran toward the building.
A firefighter blocked her.
“You can’t go in.”
“My child is inside.”
The words came naturally.
My child.
Nathaniel heard them.
The firefighter radioed.
Then a weak tapping came from a first-floor window.
Lucy screamed.
“There!”
Tyler appeared behind the glass.
Smoke filled the room behind him.
The window was locked.
Nathaniel picked up a metal trash can and smashed it.
“Back away!”
The glass shattered.
Tyler coughed.
Nathaniel cleared the frame with his coat and reached inside.
“I’ve got you.”
Tyler hesitated.
“Come on.”
The boy climbed toward him.
Nathaniel pulled him through.
Grace collapsed to her knees beside them.
“You scared me to death.”
“I went back for Mr. Buttons.”
Tyler opened his jacket.
A terrified orange cat emerged.
Even Nathaniel laughed.
Then Tyler looked at him.
“You saved me.”
Nathaniel looked toward the burning basement.
“No.”
He touched the boy’s shoulder.
“Grace saved all of you long before I got here.”
Fire investigators worked until after midnight.
At 1:20 a.m., the lead investigator approached.
“This wasn’t electrical.”
Nathaniel already knew.
“Accelerant?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Three separate ignition points.”
Grace stood beside him.
“Arson.”
The investigator nodded.
“And there’s something else.”
He handed Nathaniel a plastic evidence bag.
Inside was a red plastic fuel-card receipt.
The card number belonged to Ashford Urban Development’s regional fleet account.
Nathaniel stared at it.
Whoever set the fire had used company gasoline.
Grace whispered, “They want this to look like your people.”
Nathaniel’s face hardened.
“My people did this.”
“We don’t know that.”
“They used my company. My property contractor. My accounts.”
He looked at the residents wrapped in blankets.
“Whether I ordered it is becoming irrelevant.”
Grace touched his arm.
For once, he did not pull away.
At two in the morning, Eleanor Ashford arrived.
She climbed from her car wearing a cashmere coat over silk pajamas.
Nathaniel stared.
“Mother?”
She ignored him and walked straight toward the children.
“Which one is Lucy?”
Lucy raised her hand.
Eleanor smiled.
“I hear you like pancakes.”
Lucy looked suspicious.
“Who told you?”
“My son.”
Everyone looked at Nathaniel.
He shrugged.
Eleanor turned toward him.
“The east guesthouse is ready.”
“For what?”
“The families.”
Nathaniel blinked.
“Mother—”
“It has eighteen bedrooms.”
Grace stared.
Eleanor continued.
“The main house has another eleven.”
“You want everyone to stay at the estate?”
“No.”
Eleanor raised an eyebrow.
“I want everyone to sleep on the sidewalk.”
Nathaniel smiled.
Grace laughed.
Eleanor looked toward the damaged building.
Then her expression became hard.
“Someone tried to burn children out of their homes.”
She turned to her son.
“Find them.”
Nathaniel looked at the twenty frightened faces gathering around Grace.
“I will.”
May you like
And for the first time, the promise did not sound like something a billionaire said because he had power.
It sounded like something a man said because he finally understood what that power was for.
