Chapter 4 - THE MAN WHO SURVIVED
Luis Ortega lived in a modest apartment on Chicago's West Side.
He was fifty-six, a father of three, and had worked as a janitor for Wexler Logistics for fourteen years.
After the fire, he'd been hospitalized for smoke inhalation and burns.
Then he disappeared from public view.
According to Margaret, he'd been afraid.
Very afraid.
I met him through Captain Brennan and an attorney named Rebecca Shaw.
Rebecca specialized in workplace safety and wrongful-death cases.
She insisted the meeting take place in her office.
Luis arrived wearing a faded work jacket.
When he saw me, he stopped.
His eyes filled.
“Mrs. Reed.”
I stood slowly.
He looked at my abdomen.
Then at the small photograph of Hope I carried in my purse.
“Your baby?”
I nodded.
“She's alive.”
Luis covered his mouth.
“Thank God.”
I swallowed.
“Mr. Ortega, I need to know what happened.”
He sat.
His hands trembled.
Luis explained that on the day of the fire, he had been cleaning an unused storage wing.
He heard two men arguing.
One accused the other of moving unauthorized shipments through the warehouse.
The other threatened to report him.
Then Luis heard a name.
“Grant?”
Luis shook his head.
“No.”
My breath caught.
“Who?”
Luis looked toward Rebecca.
She nodded.
He whispered:
“Victor Wexler.”
Grant's younger brother.
I had seen his photograph in newspaper articles.
Thirty-nine years old.
President of Wexler Logistics.
Publicly respectable.
Privately rumored to be more dangerous than Grant.
Luis continued.
“Victor's men found me.”
He swallowed.
“They thought I'd heard too much.”
I leaned forward.
“What did they do?”
“They locked me inside.”
My hands began shaking.
“Then the fire started.”
Luis began crying.
“I thought I was going to die.”
I closed my eyes.
“And Owen came back.”
Luis nodded.
“He broke the door.”
His voice cracked.
“He gave me his breathing mask.”
I covered my mouth.
“He pushed me toward the exit.”
Luis began sobbing.
“Then the ceiling came down.”
For a moment, nobody spoke.
I could see Owen.
His crooked smile.
His terrible knees.
His habit of leaving coffee cups everywhere.
And now I could see him in the smoke, giving away the air he needed to survive.
Luis reached across the table.
“Your husband saved my life.”
I took his hand.
“He always did that.”
My voice broke.
“He always helped people.”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“Mr. Ortega, did you report Victor's name to investigators?”
Luis nodded.
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
His expression changed.
“A man came to my hospital room.”
“Who?”
Luis swallowed.
“Grant Wexler.”
My blood ran cold.
“What did he say?”
May you like
Luis looked at me.
“He told me to forget what I'd heard.”
