Chapter 7 - The Uninvited Witness
Leo grabbed the crowbar, signaling Arthur to kill the lantern. The basement plunged into total blackness, save for the pale sliver of daylight cutting down the wooden staircase.
The heavy cellar door creaked open. A woman’s silhouette appeared at the top of the steps, framed against the warm afternoon glare of the street outside.
“Arthur?” The voice was hesitant, firm, and thoroughly familiar. “Arthur Vance, if you’re hiding down in that coal bin, you better answer me before I call the building inspectors myself.”
Arthur exhaled a long, ragged sigh and reached out to click the lantern back on. “Clara. Don’t call anyone. I’m down here.”
Leo lowered the iron bar, his eyes narrowing as he watched a woman in her late forties descend the rickety stairs. She wore a work apron over denim, her greying hair pulled back in a neat, practical knot. She carried a heavy canvas satchel over her shoulder.
“Clara runs the print and mail shop on the corner,” Arthur whispered quickly to Leo. “She’s the only one on this street who refused Vance’s buyout offers last year.”
Clara reached the stone floor, her gaze immediately locking onto Leo’s soot-covered dress shirt and the open steel box on the hearth. “Well, well. I saw Julian Vance’s limousine leave, and then I saw a strange car parked out front. I came to see if Arthur was having a stroke, and instead I find corporate raider Leo Mercer covered in coal dust.”
Leo froze. “You know who I am?”
“I print the legal notices for the city zoning board, Mr. Mercer,” Clara said, crossing her arms. “I’ve printed your name on thirty-six corporate acquisition filings in the last five years. You bought out the dry cleaner, the hardware store, and the shoe repair shop down the avenue. Why are you in Arthur’s basement?”
Arthur stepped between them before Leo could speak. “He didn't sell me out, Clara. He bought the mortgage. He’s trying to save the hearth.”
Clara stared at Arthur, then turned her piercing gaze back to Leo. “Save it? Vance filed an emergency revocation motion forty minutes ago at city hall. I saw the paperwork roll off the clerk’s machine. They have five city inspectors scheduled to shut this block down tomorrow afternoon.”
“We need five hundred transactions by five o’clock,” Leo said, stepping forward. “We need wood for this oven, and we need flour. Does the old guild warehouse down by the canal still stand?”
May you like
Clara’s sharp eyes widened. She glanced at the open ledger in Leo’s hands, then down at the bronze medallion. A slow, knowing smile broke across her weathered face.
“The warehouse is locked, Mr. Mercer,” Clara said, unzipping her canvas satchel. “Good thing my great-aunt was the cooperative’s head bookkeeper—and I happen to have the master gate keys.”
