Chapter 7 - Under Oath
On Monday I gave the lawyer permission to make the appropriate disclosures. I did not suddenly become brave. My stomach hurt so badly I couldn't finish breakfast, and I spent twenty minutes in my car trying to decide whether to turn around.
The city's emergency review began in a small municipal hearing room, not a grand courtroom. There were folding chairs, paper cups, a clerk checking names, and a microphone that kept squealing when people adjusted it.
Nora sat beside Marisol. Isaiah sat two rows behind them with his supervisor from the hardware store. Mrs. Franklin came in carrying a small notebook of dates. She did not look at me when she passed.
The city official explained the scope: unresolved building hazards, the basis for temporary restrictions, and a schedule for independent remediation. Allegations about fraudulent billing were being forwarded to the appropriate investigators. No one was promising arrests or convictions.
When I spoke, I didn't say Kent had tricked me. He had, in places. But I had also looked away whenever facts threatened my closing date.
“I approved delaying repairs without reviewing the inspection,” I said. “I authorized an electrical isolation that affected occupied apartments. And I brought movers to a tenant's home without a lawful eviction order.”
A woman in the back shook her head. Someone whispered, “Finally.”
The official asked whether I was disputing the city's observations.
“No.”
“Do you accept responsibility for providing safe access and essential services while remediation proceeds?”
“Yes, with independent oversight and whatever orders apply.”
I knew how ugly that sounded in a meeting room full of people whose patience I'd spent. But it was the first version of the truth I'd said without adding the word but.
Marisol spoke next. She presented tenant statements, rent documentation, photographs, and requests for temporary accommodation. She asked that the company be prohibited from conditioning repairs or reimbursement on tenants waiving their rights.
I didn't object. My attorney didn't either.
Nora spoke last. She laid Paulie's worn maintenance notebook on the table, but kept her hand resting on its cover.
“My husband went back to this building when the staircase was still open,” she said. “He was trying to get the owner to see that a handrail isn't cosmetic when a person's life depends on it.”
She looked at me for the first time all morning.
“He loved his brother. He was also angry with him. Both things were true.”
My throat tightened.
“He told me Viktor used to carry him across icy sidewalks when they were little, even when he complained the whole way. That was the man Paulie hoped would show up. The man who knew other people needed help getting across.”
I stared down at my hands. Under the table, I could feel the deep mark the ring had made in my palm on the morning I'd kicked her box.
She went on. “Nobody in this room should have to depend on whether the owner remembers how to be kind. We need enforceable repairs, safe housing, and an honest record of what happened.”
At the end of the review, the city maintained the restrictions on the rear stairs and affected electrical systems. It required a professional repair plan and proof of safe services before reoccupancy of the most affected units. The parties agreed to a written temporary-housing protocol while disputes over damages and responsibility continued separately.
Outside, a local reporter approached with a microphone. “Mr. Perrone, do you admit you covered up your brother's death?”
“No,” I said. “And I'm not going to speculate about an investigation. I can tell you what I did. I delayed work that should have been done.”
At the office, Kent was waiting in the lobby. His coat was open and his expression had lost its polish.
“You just torched the sale,” he said. “Do you have any idea what those statements cost you?”
“Yes.”
“Then you must have a replacement buyer.”
“No.”
He blinked, as if the idea of walking away without a profitable escape route was physically impossible.
“You're going to lose the building.”
“Maybe.”
“And your brother won't be any less dead.”
I felt the old urge to put my fist through something. Instead I walked past him toward the elevator.
That night Nora called, not to thank me, but to warn me. A uniformed process server had left an envelope with her attorney. Her complaint named the Perrone company and sought damages for the unlawful removal attempt and unsafe housing conditions.
“I wanted you to hear it from me,” Nora said.
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
I thought of the ring, the sidewalk, and how easily I'd ordered a stranger to kneel among her husband's things.
“I think I'm starting to,” I said.
May you like
She was silent for a moment.
“Good,” she replied. “Because I'm not withdrawing it.”
