Chapter 9 - Six Steps
Two days later, a deputy escorted me out of the hospital. My arm was in a heavy splint, my ribs ached, and I moved like a woman twice my age. June kicked whenever I leaned against the seat belt.
"She's already opinionated," Tessa said, helping me into her car.
"Good. She'll need it."
We drove to a motel where Luis Ortega and Sofia had been living while their house sat unfinished. The manager had given them a room on the ground floor because Luis couldn't use the stairs.
Sofia opened the door wearing a bright yellow sweater. She looked at my arm and whispered, "Did you get hurt helping somebody again?"
That question nearly finished me.
Luis pulled up beside the bed. "I heard what happened at your ceremony. I'm sorry."
"You didn't swing the chair."
He handed me an envelope filled with photographs, dates, and receipts. He'd kept everything: the emails promising a ramp, an invoice marked paid, even a thank-you letter bearing my forged signature.
"I thought you knew," he said. "Your face was on the billboard."
"I didn't." I swallowed. "But I do now."
Sofia tugged at my good sleeve. "When my dad gets a ramp, can he see my room again? He hasn't been upstairs since we moved."
I wanted to promise her tomorrow. I knew better than to promise what I couldn't control.
"People are working on it," I said. "And I'm going to keep asking until they finish."
Tessa helped Luis scan every document. I called Shah from the parking lot and explained that the family had been charged rent while charity records claimed they had occupied a completed accessible home.
"We've seen the same pattern with other families," Shah said. "Claire, the signature on that thank-you letter links you to every false completion report."
I stared through the motel window at Luis helping his daughter with homework.
"They didn't just steal the money," I said. "They built the paperwork so I'd take the blame."
May you like
Shah didn't argue.
"And we're about to find out how far they planned to go."
