Chapter 10 - The Doors That Didn't Open
Eastbank Housing stood beside an old rail yard, a brick apartment building intended for seniors on fixed incomes. Whitcomb Development had won a city grant to renovate it. Ryan called it his proudest project.
I went with Luis, who knew the building supervisor from an earlier job. We stayed in the public lobby until she agreed to show us the permitted common areas.
"The west stairwell still isn't finished," she said. "They said supplies were delayed."
"The contractor billed the city for completed work in June."
Her face changed. "Residents moved into the east wing in August."
At the west stairwell, a temporary partition blocked the doorway. A handwritten FIRE EXIT arrow pointed straight at it. An elderly man carrying groceries stopped behind us.
"That sign's a joke," he said. "We complained last month."
I took photographs with the supervisor's permission and called the fire department's nonemergency line to report a potentially unsafe exit. Within an hour, a fire inspector arrived and began checking the building. I gave her the invoice number, then stepped back. This was no time for me to play detective in a crowded residence.
Luis drove me home. Neither of us spoke for ten minutes.
"Those people could get trapped," he finally said.
"I know."
I had assumed Diane wanted my house because she was greedy. That was true, but it was too small an explanation. The loan could replace money that had already disappeared from a public project.
That night, the fire inspector called to thank me. Several doors needed immediate repairs, and the city was arranging temporary safety measures.
May you like
Then she said something that made my hand go cold around the phone.
"The completion certificate we have on file," she said, "was signed by your husband last month."
