Chapter 2 - The Name on the Notice
Downstairs, the estate was bathed in warm, golden light. Mrs. Gable, a stern woman of sixty-five who had managed the Reed household since Malcolm’s late wife had passed away four years ago, nearly dropped her silver tea tray when she saw Malcolm walking down the grand staircase holding a disheveled child by the hand, followed by Maisie.
“Mr. Reed!” Mrs. Gable gasped, dropping her linen towel. “Who on earth—where did she come from?!”
“Mrs. Gable, don't ask questions right now,” Malcolm said, his voice clipped and decisive. “Run a warm bath in the guest suite upstairs. Get a pair of Maisie’s clean pajamas, make a bowl of hot chicken soup, and stay with both of them. I’m going out.”
“Going out?” Mrs. Gable blinked in astonishment. “Sir, it’s seven o'clock and pouring buckets! You have the regional development board dinner at the Hilton at eight!”
“Cancel it,” Malcolm said flatly without breaking stride.
“Cancel it?” Mrs. Gable echoed in sheer disbelief. “That dinner is with Councilman Vance and the municipal planning committee! You’ve been setting up the Oakridge Revitalization Project for six months!”
“I said cancel it, Mrs. Gable,” Malcolm repeated, his tone leaving no room for further debate. “Tell them I had an urgent family emergency.”
Malcolm walked to his private study, opened the top drawer of his dark oak desk, and pulled out his heavy leather coat and a powerful waterproof flashlight. He turned to look at Evie, who was sitting nervously on the edge of a velvet armchair in the foyer, staring wide-eyed at the crystal chandelier above her head.
“Evie,” Malcolm said, kneeling in front of her again. “What is your mother’s name?”
“Nora,” the girl said softly. “Nora Murphy.”
Malcolm’s mind instantly clicked. Nora Murphy.
The name was not unfamiliar to him. He stepped over to his computer, logged into his firm’s internal database, and typed the name into the legal repository for the Oakridge Commercial Redevelopment Zone—a four-block industrial district Reed Capital had acquired six months ago to tear down and rebuild into luxury high-rise apartments and boutique commercial spaces.
A legal eviction notice popped up on his screen.
Defendant: Nora Murphy. Tenant of Record, Unit 4B, 114 Oak Street.
Status: Writs of Possession executed October 12th. Property cleared due to non-payment of rent following commercial lease reclassification.
Malcolm stared at the glowing blue monitor as if it had struck him across the face.
Nora Murphy had been a seamstress who ran a small tailorshop on the ground floor of 114 Oak Street while renting the small apartment above it. When Reed Capital bought the entire block through a shell corporation, they had raised the commercial rents by three hundred percent to force out small tenants, then issued three-week eviction notices when the occupants couldn't meet the inflated rates.
It was standard corporate practice. His legal team handled it automatically. Hundreds of notices were signed via digital auto-signature under his authority every single quarter. He had viewed those evicted tenants merely as line items—delinquent variables to be cleared so demolition crews could begin laying foundations for maximum return on investment.
He had never considered where those line items went when the locks were changed.
Now, he looked up from the screen and saw Evie sitting in his foyer, wearing his daughter’s oversized socks, holding her half-eaten cookie like a lifeline.
Malcolm closed his laptop with a sharp snap that sounded like a gunshot in the silent study.
He walked out into the foyer, pulled his keys from his pocket, and looked at Mrs. Gable. “Keep the doors locked. I’ll be back within an hour.”
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“Daddy!” Maisie called out from the top of the stairs, leaning over the carved banister. “Find Evie’s mommy! Tell her Evie is safe!”
Malcolm looked up at his little girl, feeling a wave of emotion so intense it threatened to choke him. “I’ll find her, Maisie. I promise.”
