Chapter 5 - The House Without Heat
The furnace died three nights later.
Emily woke beneath two blankets and could see her own breath.
For several seconds she thought she was dreaming.
Then Noah began crying.
She rushed to her mother's room.
Sarah was already awake, wrapped in an old coat while checking the thermostat.
"It's forty-nine degrees," Emily said.
"I know."
"Can you fix it?"
Sarah opened the furnace closet.
She had no idea what she was looking at.
"Probably."
That meant no.
Sarah called the repair company at six.
The technician arrived shortly after ten.
He inspected the furnace and delivered the answer Sarah feared.
"The heat exchanger is gone."
"Can you repair it?"
"Not safely."
"How much?"
When he told her, Sarah sat down.
Emily heard the figure from the hallway.
More than two thousand dollars.
They didn't have two hundred.
The technician was kind.
That somehow made it worse.
He offered financing.
Sarah's credit didn't qualify.
He offered space-heater recommendations.
Sarah thanked him.
After he left, she stood alone in the kitchen.
Emily walked in carrying Noah.
"What are we going to do?"
"Stay with Aunt Lisa."
"Aunt Lisa's apartment barely fits her."
"It'll be temporary."
Emily looked toward the refrigerator.
Half the groceries Lorenzo brought were still there.
"Should we call him?"
"No."
"Mom."
"No."
"He'd help."
"That's exactly why we're not calling."
Emily frowned.
"I don't understand."
Sarah knelt so they were eye level.
"There's a difference between accepting kindness and becoming dependent on someone powerful."
"But we're freezing."
"I'll solve it."
"How?"
Sarah had no answer.
Emily looked away.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"The text."
Sarah stared.
"If I hadn't sent it, none of this would've happened."
Sarah immediately pulled her close.
"No."
"But someone broke in because Lorenzo came."
"That is not your fault."
"I brought him here."
"You were trying to feed your brother."
Sarah held Emily's face gently.
"Never feel guilty for asking for help when someone you love needs it."
"But you won't ask him."
Sarah sighed.
"That's different."
"It doesn't feel different."
Before Sarah could answer, someone knocked.
They both froze.
After the break-in, every knock sounded threatening.
Sarah approached the window.
A middle-aged repairman stood outside wearing a jacket from another heating company.
She opened the door cautiously.
"Mrs. Carter?"
"Yes."
"I'm here about the furnace."
"I didn't call your company."
"It's already paid."
Sarah knew immediately.
"No."
The repairman blinked.
"Ma'am?"
"Who paid?"
He checked his tablet.
"A local housing assistance fund."
"What fund?"
He named an organization Sarah had never heard of.
She nearly laughed.
"Lorenzo."
"I'm sorry?"
"Nothing."
She took out her phone.
Lorenzo answered on the second ring.
"I told you not to pay my bills."
"Good morning to you too."
"Did you send a furnace company?"
"No."
Sarah stared at the repairman.
"Don't lie."
"I'm not lying."
"Then why is somebody outside saying a housing fund paid for a new furnace?"
Lorenzo was silent.
Sarah narrowed her eyes.
"Lorenzo."
"I didn't pay your bill."
"Who did?"
"I donated to a housing fund this morning."
Sarah closed her eyes.
"You are impossible."
"Technically, the fund paid."
"Why do you even know our furnace broke?"
Another silence.
Sarah's voice changed.
"How do you know?"
"I had someone drive past the house."
"You are watching us?"
"For protection."
"You promised not to involve my children."
"I'm not involving them."
"Having people watch my house is involvement."
Lorenzo rubbed his forehead.
He knew she was right.
"Someone broke into your home."
"Then tell the police what you know."
"I don't know enough yet."
"What about Vincent?"
Silence.
Sarah understood.
"You confronted him."
"I asked a question."
"And?"
"He lied."
"About what?"
"His car."
Sarah glanced toward Emily.
"Are we in danger?"
Lorenzo answered carefully.
"I don't know."
"That means yes."
"No. It means I don't know."
Sarah lowered her voice.
"Then find out quickly."
She started to end the call.
"Sarah."
"What?"
"Let them fix the furnace."
"I don't want your money."
"It isn't for you."
Sarah knew what he meant.
Emily and Noah.
She looked at her children standing in a house below fifty degrees.
Pride suddenly felt expensive.
"Fine."
"Thank you."
"Don't sound so pleased."
"I wouldn't dare."
Sarah almost smiled.
Almost.
The repair took most of the day.
By evening, warmth returned.
Emily sat near the vent with Noah.
She knew exactly who had done it.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"Can good people be dangerous?"
Sarah looked at her daughter.
"Sometimes."
"Can dangerous people become good?"
That question was harder.
"I hope so."
Meanwhile, Lorenzo was asking Vincent the same question in a very different way.
They sat in Lorenzo's office after midnight.
The old accident report lay between them.
"Tell me about the SUV," Lorenzo said.
"I already did."
"No. You told me you sold yours months before Michael died."
"I did."
"I checked."
Vincent's face tightened.
Lorenzo continued.
"You sold it six days after Michael died."
Vincent looked toward the window.
"Then I remembered incorrectly."
"You don't remember selling a vehicle six days after your friend died?"
"We weren't friends."
"You attended his funeral."
"For you."
Lorenzo leaned back.
"Michael accused you of betraying me."
Vincent's eyes snapped toward him.
There.
The reaction was tiny.
But Lorenzo saw it.
"Where did you hear that?"
Lorenzo didn't answer.
Vincent stood.
"Lorenzo, whatever Sarah gave you—"
Lorenzo became very still.
He had never mentioned Sarah.
Vincent realized it immediately.
The silence became enormous.
"Why did you say Sarah?"
Vincent's face drained.
"Lorenzo—"
"How did you know I got anything from Sarah?"
Vincent searched for an answer.
Couldn't find one.
Lorenzo stood.
"Sit down."
Vincent didn't.
Lorenzo's voice hardened.
"I said sit."
Vincent slowly returned to his chair.
For years, Lorenzo's reputation had been built on what people imagined he might do.
But tonight he made a different choice.
He reached for his phone.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
Vincent blinked.
"I'm going to give the information I have to an attorney outside my organization and, if necessary, law enforcement."
Vincent actually laughed.
"You?"
"Yes."
"You think they won't investigate you too?"
"They probably will."
"And you're willing to risk everything?"
Lorenzo thought about Michael.
Then Emily.
A twelve-year-old girl apologizing for needing milk.
"Maybe everything should be investigated."
Vincent stared at him as if he no longer recognized the man across the desk.
"You don't understand what Michael found."
"Then explain."
Vincent leaned forward.
"It wasn't only me."
Lorenzo waited.
Vincent lowered his voice.
"Your uncle Anthony started it."
Lorenzo's jaw tightened.
"He used your companies, your reputation, your accounts. Michael discovered it."
"And you helped him."
Vincent looked ashamed.
"At first."
"Why?"
"I was twenty-eight. Anthony offered money. Access. Influence."
"And Michael?"
"He threatened to expose everything."
Lorenzo's voice became colder.
"Did you kill him?"
Vincent's eyes filled with panic.
"No."
"Did you cause his crash?"
"No."
"Who did?"
Vincent looked toward the office door as if afraid someone might be listening.
Then he whispered:
"Anthony."
Lorenzo didn't move.
Vincent continued.
"But Anthony has been dead for five years."
"Then why did someone break into Sarah's house?"
"Because Michael hid evidence."
"Where?"
"I don't know."
"Who else knows?"
Vincent swallowed.
"Someone who worked for Anthony."
"Name."
Vincent shook his head.
"You don't understand."
"Name."
Vincent finally answered.
"Daniel Voss."
Lorenzo recognized it immediately.
Daniel wasn't part of the Moretti organization.
Not officially.
He was a wealthy developer.
A donor.
A businessman photographed with politicians and charity boards.
A man nobody would connect to Michael Carter.
"Why Voss?"
"Because Anthony wasn't the top of it."
Vincent leaned closer.
"He worked for Voss."
At the Carter house, Emily sat beside the newly repaired furnace vent and opened an old family photo album.
A picture slipped onto the floor.
She picked it up.
Her father stood beside a younger Lorenzo.
Behind them was another man.
Emily didn't know him.
On the back, in Michael Carter's handwriting, were four words:
Never trust Daniel Voss.
Emily stared at the photograph.
Then she heard a knock at the front door.
Sarah was upstairs with Noah.
Emily looked through the peephole.
A well-dressed older man stood outside.
He smiled directly at her.
"Emily Carter?"
May you like
Her blood turned cold.
"My name is Daniel Voss."
