“Are the businessmen his bosses?” Caleb asked.
“I don’t know,” Nia replied.
“But someone wants him to act like they are.”
Caleb took the receipt to Mara instead of posting it online.
The attorney thanked Nia for preserving ordinary records without breaking into anyone’s private files.
She also warned Caleb not to let the case consume every hour of his life.
He needed income.
His rent was still due.
A canceled apartment payment would not help the people missing from East Harbor.
Caleb began applying for jobs between interviews.
For the first time, he felt both embarrassed and angry that doing the decent thing had made him financially vulnerable.
Arthur called that evening and offered to pay the rent.
Caleb declined.
“I don’t want anyone saying I was bought,” he said.
“Help isn’t always a purchase,” Arthur answered.
“I know,” Caleb said.
“That’s why I bought you soup.”
Arthur was quiet for a moment.
“Fair enough,” he replied.
“Then let me know if you want a reference that doesn’t mention any of this.”
Chapter 8: The Warehouse with No Beds
Selma traced one of the listed relocation destinations to a warehouse on the outskirts of Revere.
The building had once been advertised as a temporary wellness annex.
Photographs from a long-forgotten fundraising website showed bright hallways, a reception desk, and beds with neatly folded blankets.
The address appeared on invoices for meals, lodging, and transportation.
The city inspection record told a different story.
At the time of the supposed relocations, the property had no approved occupancy for overnight lodging.
A fire inspector had found damaged alarms and ordered the owner to keep it vacant while repairs were completed.
The required reinspection never took place.
Mara requested the full inspection file and sent a formal preservation notice to the property manager.
Caleb went with Selma to the public sidewalk outside the building, where they could photograph it without crossing the locked gate.
Plywood covered the windows.
An old sign advertised a distribution company rather than a residence.
Caleb felt a flash of anger so powerful he had to turn away.
His father had spent months checking addresses, and now the answer seemed to sit in plain sight.
“This is evidence that the billing description may have been false,” Selma said.
“It isn’t evidence the residents were physically brought here.”
Caleb watched a bus pass the loading dock.
“Where were they, then?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
A man in a fluorescent vest came through the side gate carrying a lunch bag.
