Chapter 4 - THE BUILDING ON MERCER STREET
Emma knew the building.
Her father had spent one summer repairing a small brick workshop on Mercer Street. At thirteen, she had handed him tools and complained about the dust. When the job was done, he had let her press one hand into the wet cement near the rear entrance.
“He told me it would still be there when I was old,” she said.
Dante offered to have a driver take her. Emma chose a cab instead. Dante came along because she asked him to.
The workshop sat between a closed print shop and a coffee warehouse. Its windows were dark. A FOR LEASE sign had been taped inside the front door.
Emma crouched at the back steps. Her handprint was still there, smaller than she remembered. Beside it, carved into the brick mortar, was a crooked star.
“Dad used to mark places he wanted me to remember,” she said.
The star pointed toward a loose brick.
Emma worked it free with her fingers. Inside the narrow opening was a wrapped plastic envelope.
Dante stepped back while she opened it.
There was a contract, a ledger, and a letter in her father’s handwriting.
Em,
If you’re reading this, someone finally told you the company didn’t fail. I was pushed out after I found invoices for work we never did. I kept copies because I couldn’t prove who had signed them. I wanted to fix it before you had to carry any of it.
Don’t trust anyone who tells you I left you a debt.
I left you a choice.
Love,
Dad
Emma read the letter again, tracing the last word with her thumb.
The ledger listed payments between Walker Restoration and Whitmore Holdings. Some were marked for repairs. Others were tied to buildings her father’s crew had never entered.
A truck pulled into the alley.
Its headlights fixed on them.
“Inside,” Dante said.
Emma slipped the papers back into the envelope. The truck doors opened, and two men climbed out. One was the man she had seen following Veronica at the cathedral.
“Emma,” he called. “Mr. Whitmore would like his property returned.”
“My father’s name is on it,” Emma said.
The man took a step toward her. Dante moved beside her, phone already in his hand.
“I’m recording,” Dante said. “Tell her again who sent you.”
The man stopped. His partner glanced at the camera mounted above the workshop’s rear door.
“Give us the envelope,” the first man said. “Nobody has to get hurt.”
A second car turned into the alley. Its headlights swept over all four of them.
Sofia Bell got out with two police officers.
Dante lowered his phone. “That was fast.”
“You gave me the address,” Sofia said. “And Emma gave me a reason to come.”
The men backed away from the workshop. One reached for the truck door, but an officer called him to stop.
While Sofia spoke with the police, Emma’s phone buzzed.
May you like
Nathan had sent a photograph of her mother standing on the front porch of her house in Queens.
Beneath it, he wrote: BRING THE PAPERS TO ME, OR SHE HEARS YOUR FATHER WAS A THIEF.
