“That is an allegation,” Oliver said.
“It is,” Mara replied.
“The court will determine whether it’s true.”
Arthur was watching Philip.
“What happened to the residents when the green doors closed?” he asked.
Philip opened his mouth and said nothing.
Arthur waited.
Caleb could see the effort it cost the older man to remain calm.
“I’m not here because I miss a building,” Arthur continued.
“I’m here because people were put on a bus, and some of them never arrived where you said you sent them.”
The room shifted around those words.
Russell lowered his gaze.
Caleb felt a cold sensation settle between his shoulders.
A property dispute had just become a question about missing people.
Chapter 4: The Letter in Caleb Pocket
Caleb followed Mara and Arthur outside after the businessmen moved into a side room with their counsel.
The sleet had become rain, and neon from the restaurant sign shivered across the wet pavement.
Russell watched through the glass but made no effort to apologize.
Mara asked Caleb for his contact information because he had witnessed the encounter.
He gave it reluctantly.
He had no money for a lawyer and little desire to become a character in a fight between wealthy men.
“You won’t be responsible for our dispute,” Mara told him.
“But what you heard might help establish the sequence of events.”
Arthur thanked him for the soup.
Caleb shrugged.
“You looked cold.”
“I was,” Arthur said.
“It’s a strange thing to be cold in a city where you once knew every place a person could go for warmth.”
Caleb was about to leave when Arthur noticed the worn brass key ring hanging from his backpack.
Attached to the keys was a small enamel badge shaped like a lighthouse.
The paint had almost disappeared.
“Where did you get that?” Arthur asked.
“It belonged to my father,” Caleb said.
Arthur’s eyes moved from the badge to Caleb’s face.
“What was his name?”
“Jonah Foster.”
Mara stopped writing.
Arthur steadied himself against the brick wall.
“Was he a driver?” he asked.
“An ambulance technician and volunteer driver,” Caleb answered.
“He died when I was thirteen.”
Arthur closed his eyes.
“I knew your father.”
Caleb had heard that sentence from strangers at funerals and charity drives before.
He had learned not to expect much from it.
“A lot of people did,” he said.
“Jonah brought men to East Harbor when they had nowhere else to sleep,” Arthur replied.
“He also told me that someone had changed the transport records before the residence closed.”
