Chapter 4 – The House Without Heat
“The account belongs to Hearth House Projects.”
Vanessa spoke so quietly that I almost didn’t hear her.
Luca kept his finger on the payment entry.
“And who owns that company?”
“It’s part of the redevelopment partnership.”
“Whose partnership?”
Vanessa looked away.
Marian answered.
“Bellini Housing owns the building.”
Luca slowly raised his eyes.
“Your father’s company?”
Vanessa nodded.
The silence that followed was awful.
Teresa stared at the foundation report.
“You used our donations to pay your father’s company?”
“For safety assessments,” Vanessa replied. “The building needs serious repairs.”
“Then why were the payments listed under assistance for private homes?” Marian asked.
“Grant handled the accounting.”
Luca closed the binder.
“Grant may have handled the books. You brought him into the foundation.”
Vanessa looked wounded.
“You think I wanted anyone to lose money?”
“I don’t know what you wanted anymore.”
She recoiled as though he’d slapped her.
For several seconds, he looked at her with an expression I couldn’t read.
Then he turned to Teresa.
“Mom, do you recognize the building?”
She had been studying the address beneath the payment.
1814 North Ashland Avenue.
Her face changed.
“Ada Whitcomb lives there.”
Marian nodded.
“Fourth floor.”
Teresa looked at Luca.
“She’s eighty-one. She drove a school bus for thirty-seven years. Antonio fixed her kitchen window after her husband died.”
My throat tightened.
Teresa remembered people the way other women remembered birthdays.
“Her grandson visits after school,” she continued. “His name is Eli.”
Vanessa sighed.
“Teresa, nobody is suggesting the residents don’t matter.”
“Then why haven’t we asked them what they need?”
Vanessa had no answer.
Luca opened the report again.
There were proposed assessments, estimated repairs, and a payment authorization.
But no completed work reports.
No confirmation that a contractor had entered an apartment.
He placed everything back inside the binder.
“We’re going there tomorrow.”
Vanessa stared at him.
“To the building?”
“Yes.”
“That would be unnecessary.”
“My mother’s foundation paid sixty-four thousand dollars for work there. I’d like to see it.”
She looked toward Teresa.
“You really think that’s wise? After everything tonight?”
Teresa straightened her shoulders.
“I think I’ve spent enough time being told where I shouldn’t go.”
I glanced at her.
It was the strongest I’d heard her sound all evening.
The next morning, Chicago was gray and cold.
I found Teresa waiting beside the mansion’s front staircase.
She wore a dark wool coat over a simple green dress.
Her butterfly brooch was fastened near the collar.
Luca came downstairs carrying two travel mugs of coffee.
He gave one to his mother.
“Just like Dad used to make it.”
Teresa tasted it.
“Too much sugar.”
Luca almost smiled.
“Exactly like Dad.”
For a moment, they looked like an ordinary mother and son.
Then he noticed her walking shoes.
“Is your knee all right?”
“It’ll be fine if you stop looking at it.”
He nodded.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I followed them to the car.
Daniel drove us across the city.
Vanessa hadn’t come.
She’d told Luca she needed time to speak with the foundation’s financial consultant.
He hadn’t stopped her, but he’d instructed Marian to preserve every financial record and pause new payments until the board reviewed them.
At Ashland Avenue, the building looked nothing like the photographs in the foundation program.
The brick exterior was weathered.
Several windows had been patched.
The entrance light flickered even in daylight.
Inside, a handwritten notice warned residents not to use the elevator.
Teresa stared at the stairs.
“Fourth floor.”
Luca immediately offered his arm.
“We’ll take our time.”
By the second landing, I could see how hard the climb was for her.
But she refused to turn back.
Ada Whitcomb answered her apartment door wearing two sweaters and a brown wool coat.
Her face brightened.
“Teresa?”
“Ada, sweetheart.”
The women embraced carefully.
Then Ada noticed Luca.
“Well, look at you. Last time I saw you, you were sixteen.”
Luca smiled.
“Good morning, Mrs. Whitcomb.”
Ada invited us inside.
The apartment was clean and painfully cold.
A knitted blanket covered the couch.
A small electric heater sat unplugged beside the kitchen table.
Ada noticed me looking at it.
“Building manager said the wiring wasn’t safe enough.”
Luca glanced toward the radiator.
“Does that work?”
“Sometimes.”
A little boy appeared from the bedroom.
He had dark hair and a blue sweatshirt with a basketball on the front.
“Grandma, who’s here?”
“This is Mr. Moretti, Eli.”
The boy studied Luca’s tattooed hands.
“Are those real?”
Luca glanced down.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
Eli grinned.
Teresa laughed for the first time since the dinner.
Then she touched Ada’s coat.
“Why are you wearing this indoors?”
Ada’s smile faded.
“It’s been a rough week.”
Luca asked whether anyone had inspected the heating.
Ada shook her head.
“Somebody came through the lobby with a clipboard. Never came upstairs.”
He looked at me.
I knew exactly what he was thinking.
Sixty-four thousand dollars.
And no one had checked the radiators.
Ada reached for a folded notice on the kitchen counter.
“Maybe you can explain this.”
Luca took it.
As he read, his expression hardened.
The notice described renovations beginning after the upcoming Bellini-Moretti wedding.
Residents would receive temporary relocation assistance.
But the final paragraph said their current rental agreements would not automatically continue after construction.
Luca read it again.
“Mrs. Whitcomb, did anyone tell you that you could lose your apartment?”
Ada looked embarrassed.
“They said the building would be nicer.”
Eli tugged at her sleeve.
“Grandma, are we moving?”
She tried to smile.
“I don’t know yet, honey.”
Luca looked at the notice.
Then at the boy standing in his grandmother’s cold kitchen.
The foundation was supposed to help people stay in their homes.
But the project Vanessa wanted to fund could take those homes away.
And according to the notice, the first families would have to leave the morning after his wedding.
