Chapter 5 - The Witness
Isaiah was nineteen and scared of getting caught in a dispute between people who owned property on his block. I understood why. Until that night, I had been exactly the sort of man who could make a phone call and cost him a job.
“Tell us what you saw,” Nora said.
“Not here,” he replied. “The contractor's guy is parked by the alley.”
I looked down the street. An unmarked white van sat beyond the corner. That alone proved nothing, but Isaiah's fear was real. We met the next morning at Marisol Vega's office, where she made clear that Isaiah could leave whenever he wanted and that she represented the tenants, not me.
“I don't need you to say anything helpful to my case,” I told him. “Just what happened.”
He took out his phone and placed it faceup on the table, although it contained no dramatic video of the fall.
“I was closing the hardware store,” he said. “I heard Mr. Paulie arguing with a man in a navy work jacket. They were standing by the back door. Mr. Paulie kept saying the stairs had to be closed.”
“Did you recognize the man?” Marisol asked.
“Yeah. He came in for bolts all the time. Name was Craig. Worked with the contractor.”
“Did he touch Paulie?” Nora asked.
“I couldn't see that. I went inside to get the alarm code from my boss. When I came back, I heard a crash. Craig was at the bottom of the stairs, calling an ambulance. Mr. Paulie was on the landing.”
Nora covered her mouth. I wanted to tell her not to imagine the worst, but I had spent weeks not imagining anything at all.
“Why didn't you tell police?” I asked.
“I told a man at the scene. He said somebody would take my statement. Nobody ever called.”
Isaiah gave the detective's name he thought he remembered. Marisol recorded his account accurately, including what he hadn't seen. There was no basis to declare murder, and no one said there was. What mattered was that Paulie had been trying to close a dangerous staircase, and the record describing him as alone and careless appeared incomplete.
Outside, Nora stood with her back to the window.
“He called me that afternoon,” she said. “He told me he'd be home by six. He said we'd order Chinese food.”
I didn't speak.
“He asked what I wanted.” Her voice fractured. “I told him to surprise me. Isn't that stupid? I keep thinking if I'd told him to come straight home, he might still be alive.”
“No,” I said. “He went there because I didn't.”
She turned. “You can take responsibility without pretending you control every choice he made. Paulie went because people could get hurt. He was stubborn that way.”
“I used to call it interference.”
“He called it his job.”
I went back to the office and sat across from Maureen for an hour while we reconstructed invoices, emails, and inspection dates. The contractor had billed for railing replacement before the fatal fall, although the city photos still showed the old damaged rail. The company had paid anyway. The payment route included a subcontractor whose registration had expired the previous year.
“These payments were never reviewed against completed work,” Maureen said. “I warned you about it.”
“I read your warnings this morning.”
“There were thirteen.”
I tried to find an excuse. I came up empty.
The outside attorney told us to preserve all the material and referred the issues to an independent forensic accountant. She advised us to notify insurers and relevant agencies properly rather than accuse specific people of crimes we hadn't proven. I agreed, which was the easiest responsible thing I'd done in months. The hard part was still ahead.
We held a meeting that night in a neighborhood recreation room. Mrs. Franklin sat in the front row. Mr. Ellis brought a file of photographs showing water damage inside his ceiling. A woman named Keisha asked whether the hotel costs would come out of their security deposits.
“No,” I said. “The company will pay those expenses. You're also entitled to independent advice, and I won't ask anyone to sign a release tonight.”
“Why should we believe that?” she asked.
“You shouldn't, just because I say it. Marisol will get the commitment in writing.”
Marisol studied me for a long second, then began writing.
The room did not applaud. People asked how long repairs would take, whether they'd have to move, and whether their belongings were safe. Those were better questions than the ones I had been asking all week.
After the meeting, my phone rang. The bank's commercial loan officer was on the line. She spoke without anger, which made her words harder to dismiss.
“Kent Barlow says your company is interfering with the sale,” she said. “We've received notice that your buyer may terminate. If that happens, the loan covenant issue becomes immediate.”
“How immediate?”
“There may be a demand for additional collateral or repayment, depending on the documents.”
I looked at Nora across the room, helping Mrs. Franklin into her coat. All those lives were tied to my signatures.
May you like
Then the loan officer told me the amount the bank expected us to cover.
It was more money than the company had available.
