“Jack?” Eleanor smiled. “No, Paulie, he’s a very good man. Sometimes life leaves marks on people, like scratches on a table. A scar doesn’t make someone mean. It just shows they had to fight.”
“Like a superhero?” the boy asked.
“Like a firefighter,” Eleanor said softly. “He saved people from fires.”
Paulie traced the rim of his glass. “My mom died in a fire. At the warehouse. I was at the neighbor’s waiting for her, but she didn’t come. Uncle Joe sold our TV and Mom’s rings after that. He said he was sad, but he just bought beer.”
The boy’s words were heartbreakingly matter-of-fact.
“Your mom loved you very much. She wouldn’t want you to be sad,” Eleanor whispered. “We’re going to fix this. I promise.”
Meanwhile, the Crown Vic was idling outside the taxi dispatch office. Susan, the dispatcher, was a formidable woman with a beehive of bleached hair and a constant cigarette in her hand.
“Jack, why aren’t you on a call?” Susan looked at him over her glasses. “I’ve got three pickups in the suburbs waiting.”
Jack walked into the cramped office, leaning on his cane. “Take me off the line for the night, Sue. I need a favor. Your old contacts at the county records—are they still there?”
Susan squinted. She knew Jack. He never asked for favors. If he was here, it was serious.
“Depends on what you’re looking for, Jack. People are slippery these days. Using shell companies and offshore accounts.”
“Robert Sterling.” Jack leaned on the desk. “The billionaire who supposedly died a few days ago. I need to know if he sold any property or moved any big money in the last month.”
Susan whistled. “Sterling? The guy who owned the construction empire? Yeah, it was on the news. They say he left a mountain of debt. Creditors are circling like sharks.”
“Exactly. If he was planning to disappear, he wouldn’t go broke. He’d move the cash first. Check for any sales through a power of attorney.”
Susan sighed, picked up the phone, and started dialing.
“Hey, Linda? It’s Sue. Listen, do me a solid…”
Jack waited, staring at the peeling paint on the wall. Fifteen minutes later, Susan slammed the phone down. She looked energized.
“Linda checked the registry. Sterling didn’t sell anything personally. But his right-hand man, a guy named Victor Reed, closed a rush sale on two luxury penthouses and a commercial warehouse last week.”
“Where did the money go?”
