Chapter 2 - The View from the FloorThe building at 412 Maple Street was not located in the Chicago that Julian advertised in his glossy real estate brochures. It stood in a neglected pocket of the city, surrounded by boarded-up storefronts and flickering streetlights choked by driving snow.
When Julian pushed through the broken front entrance of the tenement, the smell of damp radiator steam, stale oil, and mildew hit him like a wall. The intercom panel was a rusted slab of stripped wires. He didn’t wait; he kicked open the unlatched security door and took the stairs three at a time, his expensive leather dress shoes slipping on the cracked linoleum.
Apartment 2B was at the end of a dimly lit hallway that smelled faintly of bleach and cheap tobacco.
Julian knocked hard. “Leo! It’s Julian. Open the door!”
A lock clicked, and the door swung open just a few inches, held by a safety chain. Through the crack peered a pair of enormous, terrified brown eyes set in a pale, thin face. The boy was wearing an oversized, threadbare sweater with frayed cuffs.
“Are you the boss?” Leo whispered.
“I am,” Julian said, breathing heavily. “Unchain the door, Leo. The paramedics are right behind me.”
The boy unlatched the chain. Julian pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The apartment was freezing. The single radiator in the corner let out a weak, rhythmic metallic hiss, but offered no real heat. The furniture consisted of a sagging, second-hand sofa, a small laminate table with two mismatched chairs, and a small plastic Christmas tree left standing in a corner, unlit. But despite the poverty, the room was immaculate. The floor was swept, the few dishes in the sink were washed, and the air smelled faintly of cheap citrus cleaner—the exact same detergent used on the forty-second floor of Harrington Tower.
On the floor near the kitchen nook lay Rebecca Nolan.
She was curled on her side over a thin blanket, dressed in her faded navy Mercer Vale custodial uniform. Her skin was a ghastly, translucent gray, her lips cracked and dry. Her eyes were partially open, unfocused, tracking Julian’s boots as he rushed over and knelt beside her.
“Rebecca?” Julian reached out, touching her shoulder. Her skin was burning hot—a raging fever.
“Mr... Mercer?” she rasped, her voice barely a thread. She tried to pull herself backward against the kitchen cabinet, a instinctual posture of fear and embarrassment. “I’m... I’m sorry. I was coming... I just needed... to rest...”
“Don’t move,” Julian ordered softly, feeling a surge of sudden, bitter shame. “Don’t say anything.”
“Please,” she wheezed, her hand feebly reaching out to grasp the hem of his pristine coat, leaving a faint streak of sweat and dirt on the cashmere. “Don’t fire me. If I lose the contract... we lose the room. Leo... he hasn’t eaten since yesterday... I couldn’t get to the pantry...”
Julian looked down at her hands. They were raw, red, and swollen from years of exposure to harsh industrial cleaning chemicals without proper protective gear. He looked at her boots—the soles were worn through, stuffed with folded cardboard to keep out the wet cold.
This was the woman who kept his empire spotless. This was the ghost who wiped away his coffee rings and emptied his trash while he slept in his Gold Coast penthouse.
Heavy footsteps thundered up the stairwell. Two paramedics rushed through the open door carrying a stretcher and emergency medical kits.
“Severe hypothermia combined with high-grade pulmonary infection,” the lead paramedic said quickly after checking her vitals. “Her oxygen saturation is critically low. We need to move her now.”
As they lifted Rebecca onto the gurney, Leo squeezed into the corner by the door, hugging his knees, trying to make himself as small as possible. He wasn't crying; he looked like a child who had long since learned that crying didn't bring back heat or food.
Julian stood up, rubbing his brow. He looked at the paramedics wheeling Rebecca out, then down at the seven-year-old boy left standing alone in the cold apartment.
“Grab your coat, Leo,” Julian said.
May you like
The boy looked up, bewildered. “Where are we going?”
“To the hospital,” Julian said, reaching down and holding out his hand. “And then we are going to have a very long conversation about Mercer Vale Holdings.”
Related Stories
