Chapter 5
I tried to close the door.
The man shoved his foot into the gap.
Mom stood from the sofa.
“Get out.”
He looked past me at her.
“You don’t want trouble, Mrs. Reed.”
My stomach turned.
“How do you know her name?”
He smiled.
“Mrs. Whitmore knows a lot.”
Arthur had said Margaret was with the police.
But rich people had long arms.
Longer than hallways.
Longer than truth, sometimes.
The man leaned closer.
“You embarrassed an important family today.”
“I returned a wallet.”
“You entered private property. You lied about missing money. You upset a child.”
My hands curled.
“That’s not what happened.”
“It will be.”
Mom stepped beside me, breathing hard.
Her face had gone gray.
“You leave my son alone.”
The man reached into his coat.
For a terrible second, I thought it was a weapon.
It was an envelope.
He tossed it onto the floor.
“Sign the statement. Say Mr. Whitmore paid you to lie about his wife. Say the maid coached you. You get five thousand dollars.”
Five thousand.
Rent.
Medicine.
Heat.
Shoes without holes.
My eyes dropped to the envelope.
Mom’s hand gripped my shoulder.
“Caleb.”
I looked up.
The man smiled wider.
“Or don’t sign. Then tomorrow, your mother’s landlord learns she’s behind on rent. Child services hears she can’t provide. Immigration hears about the maid. Everyone loses.”
My heart pounded.
Mom swayed.
I caught her arm.
The man turned to leave.
“You have until morning.”
He walked down the stairs.
I slammed the door and locked it.
Mom sank onto the sofa, gasping.
I grabbed her inhaler and helped her breathe.
The envelope sat on the floor like a dirty thing.
I did not touch it.
When Mom could speak, she whispered, “Call Arthur.”
“We don’t have a phone.”
“The payphone downstairs.”
I ran.
The lobby was freezing.
The payphone swallowed my first quarter and gave no dial tone.
I hit it with my palm.
Nothing.
Then Mr. Novak from 2B opened his door.
“Kid?”
“I need a phone.”
He handed me his without questions.
Some poor people know better than to ask before helping.
I called the number on Arthur’s card.
He answered.
“Caleb?”
“How did you know?”
“I hoped.”
My voice broke as I told him.
The man.
The envelope.
The threat.
The statement.
Arthur did not interrupt.
When I finished, his voice was no longer gentle.
“Lock your door. Do not touch the envelope. I am sending security and my attorney. Real security.”
“They threatened my mom.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want her taken away.”
“She won’t be.”
“You can’t promise that.”
A pause.
Then he said, “You’re right. But I can fight.”
Twenty minutes later, two SUVs pulled up outside our building.
Arthur came himself.
So did a woman in a dark coat named Priya Shah.
His attorney.
She photographed the envelope before opening it.
Inside was the statement.
Already typed.
I had supposedly admitted stealing money from Arthur’s wallet, then lying to protect Elena and accuse Margaret.
At the bottom was a blank line for my signature.
Priya’s face went cold.
“This is witness tampering.”
Arthur looked at his head of security.
“Find the man.”
The security chief nodded.
“We already have lobby footage.”
I stared.
“Our building camera works?”
Mr. Novak, standing in his doorway, snorted.
“Only when it wants drama.”
Priya looked at Mom.
“Mrs. Reed, we can arrange emergency protection tonight.”
Mom shook her head.
“I can’t pay.”
Arthur said, “I can.”
She lifted her chin.
“No charity.”
He looked at me.
Then back at her.
“Then consider it employment relocation. Caleb starts work Monday. Employees’ families facing threats related to company matters receive protection.”
Mom opened her mouth.
Closed it.
I almost smiled.
May you like
Rich people did talk strange.
But this time, strange sounded like rescue.
