Chapter 7 - THE FIRE MY MOTHER NEVER TALKED ABOUT
Z
Thomas Bell was sixty-four and lived in a small apartment near Yonkers.
He had worked at the Copper Lantern for nineteen years.
First as a bartender.
Then as a purchasing supervisor.
Finally as an assistant manager before Wade dismissed him.
When Delia met him with Claire at a law office, Thomas looked ashamed.
“Your mother was a good woman.”
Delia nodded.
“She was.”
He lowered his head.
“I should have helped her.”
The words made Delia's stomach tighten.
“With what?”
Thomas took a breath.
“Evelyn found discrepancies in supplier accounts. She believed someone was using the bar to conceal payments that didn't belong to the restaurant.”
Claire began taking notes.
Thomas continued.
“She asked Patrick to review the invoices. Patrick agreed. Then the problems started.”
“What problems?” Delia asked.
“Threats. Missing records. Deliveries nobody remembered ordering.”
He looked toward the window.
“One night, after closing, somebody entered the storeroom carrying fuel.”
Delia went cold.
“Was anyone hurt?”
“No. Evelyn heard movement and called emergency services before the person could start a serious fire.”
Delia swallowed.
“Did she see who it was?”
“Not clearly.”
“Then how do you know Victor was involved?”
Thomas hesitated.
“I heard Wade arguing with him afterward. Wade said Evelyn had ruined their plan.”
Claire leaned forward.
“Did you report that conversation?”
Thomas shook his head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I was frightened.”
His face crumpled.
“I had two children. A mortgage. And men came to the bar who made it very clear that questions could become dangerous.”
Delia stared at him.
For a moment, anger rose.
Her mother had been left alone.
Again.
But Thomas had at least come forward now.
“What changed?” she asked.
He looked directly at her.
“I saw what Wade did to you.”
Delia's eyes filled.
Thomas continued.
“I recognized the same pattern. Make someone feel small. Take away their work. Tell them nobody will believe them.”
He swallowed.
“And I decided I wasn't going to watch it happen twice.”
Later that afternoon, Delia returned home to find Owen sitting on the apartment stairs.
He looked miserable.
“What's wrong?” she asked.
He held out a folded school notice.
A field trip.
Twenty-eight dollars.
The payment was due Friday.
Delia's stomach tightened.
She had been applying for jobs.
Some restaurants invited her for interviews.
Others never responded.
The Copper Lantern still owed her wages.
Rent was approaching.
And now her little brother wanted to visit a science museum with his class.
He stared at his sneakers.
“It's okay if I can't go.”
Delia knelt beside him.
“Owen—”
“I know we're short.”
Her throat tightened.
“How do you know?”
He looked away.
“Grandma cried when she thought I was asleep.”
Delia closed her eyes.
Then hugged him.
“You are not responsible for our bills.”
He leaned against her.
“I just want to help.”
“I know.”
She kissed his forehead.
“And you help me every time you remind me why I keep trying.”
That evening, a small envelope appeared beneath the apartment door.
Inside was a cashier's check.
Five thousand dollars.
A note read:
For your family. No repayment required. — A.M.
Delia stared.
Then picked up her phone.
Adrian answered immediately.
“Delia?”
“Did you send me money?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes.
“Adrian.”
“I thought—”
“You thought you could solve this without asking me.”
Silence.
Then he sighed.
“You're right.”
“I appreciate the intention. But I don't want to become somebody you support because I paid a bar tab.”
His voice softened.
“I understand.”
She looked down at the check.
“I'm returning it.”
“All right.”
That surprised her.
“No argument?”
“No.”
He paused.
“Would it be acceptable if I helped you find legitimate employment opportunities instead?”
Delia considered.
“Possibly. But not at one of your companies.”
He almost laughed.
“Fair.”
“And I'm not accepting some invented executive position.”
“Also fair.”
She smiled despite herself.
Then Adrian asked, “How's Owen?”
Delia stopped.
“You remember his name?”
“Yes.”
Her throat tightened.
For a moment, she thought about how Wade had refused to remember whether she needed Wednesdays off for her brother's school pickup.
Adrian remembered after one conversation.
“He's okay,” she whispered.
“Good.”
Then he added, “Delia, there's something I need to tell you.”
“What?”
“My attorney found another document concerning your mother's ownership interest.”
She held her breath.
“And?”
“The original agreement includes a provision Wade has never disclosed.”
The provision was simple.
If Patrick Coleman died or transferred control of the Copper Lantern, Evelyn's ownership interest could not be extinguished without a documented purchase or transfer executed according to the agreement.
No authentic payment record had yet been located.
And the signature on the supposed release was now under examination.
Delia stared at the document.
For years, she'd believed her mother had left them nothing but hospital bills.
Now there was a possibility Evelyn had owned something Wade had been keeping from her family.
Delia looked toward her grandmother's kitchen.
Then whispered to Adrian:
“Maybe Mom wasn't poor because she failed.”
Adrian remained quiet.
May you like
Delia's voice broke.
“Maybe somebody took what she earned.”
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