Chapter 3: The Man at the Top of the Stairs
The man who stepped through the door was older than Victor by at least twenty years.
He wore a dark coat and carried himself like someone who had never once been told no.
He looked at the children.
He looked at me.
Then he looked at Victor with an expression that wasn't surprise at all.
"I told you to answer your phone," the man said.
"I was busy, Richard." Victor's voice was flat.
"I can see that." Richard's eyes moved slowly across the basement.
"Six of them.
You didn't mention six."
Something tightened in my chest.
"You knew about this place?" I said.
Richard didn't look at me.
He spoke to Victor as if I hadn't made a sound.
"The building goes to auction in eleven days.
The new owner has already been selected.
These children need to be removed before the paperwork closes."
"Removed." Victor repeated the word carefully.
"Relocated.
Processed.
Whatever the appropriate term is." Richard straightened his coat.
"The point is they cannot still be here when the transfer happens."
Daniel moved closer to me.
I felt his shoulder press against mine.
"Who are you?" Daniel said.
Richard finally looked at him.
"Someone who solves problems."
"We're not a problem," Daniel said.
"You're standing in a building that no longer belongs to anyone who cares about you.
That makes you exactly that."
Victor set the photograph down on the nearest surface.
He turned to face Richard fully.
"Give me the room," Victor said.
"Victor—"
"I said give me the room, Richard."
The two security guards looked at each other.
Richard's jaw tightened.
Then he turned and walked back up the stairs without another word.
The guards followed.
The door closed.
The basement went quiet.
Noah had retreated to Mia's side.
The twins were holding hands.
Lucas still hadn't moved from his spot near the wall, watching Victor with the careful stillness of a child who had learned that adults could turn dangerous without warning.
Victor crouched down so he was at Noah's level.
"Hey," he said quietly.
"What's your name?"
Noah looked at me first.
I gave him a small nod.
"Noah," the little boy said.
"How old are you, Noah?"
Noah held up three fingers.
Victor stayed crouched for a moment longer than he needed to.
Then he stood and looked at me.
"How did you know Elena?" he asked.
"She lived two floors above us before she moved here.
She used to bring food when my mother was sick.
When my mother passed, Elena let me stay." I kept my voice steady.
"When Elena got sick, she asked me to stay for them."
"You were twelve when she asked you that?"
"Thirteen by then.
Almost."
Victor was quiet for a moment.
"And you said yes."
"There was nobody else."
He looked around the basement again.
The supplies stacked neatly in the corner.
The six small beds arranged in a row.
The homework sheets pinned to the wall above each one with the child's name written at the top in my handwriting.
"You organized all of this."
"Elena left some money.
I used my wages for the rest."
"Your wages from my house."
"Yes."
He didn't say anything to that.
He walked to the corner and looked at the supplies more carefully.
Canned food arranged by type.
Medicine in a labeled box.
A small first aid kit with a handwritten inventory taped to the inside of the lid.
"This is a thirteen-year-old's work," he said.
Not mockingly.
More like he was saying it out loud to make himself believe it.
"I'm organized," I said.
Something shifted in his face.
Not quite a smile.
Something quieter than that.
Then his phone buzzed again.
He looked at the screen and his expression closed back down.
"I need to make a call," he said.
"Don't let anyone in or out until I come back."
"You can't just—"
"Olivia." He said my name like he had been using it for years.
"I'm not Richard.
I'm not here to remove anyone." He paused.
"But there are people who are.
And they already know this address."
He walked to the stairs.
"Lock the door behind me," he said without turning around.
He went up.
I stood at the bottom of the stairs listening to his footsteps cross the floor above us.
Then I heard a second voice through the ceiling.
Richard's voice.
Low and deliberate.
May you like
I could only make out four words before they moved away from the door.
*"The boy changes everything."*
