Chapter Ten: A Door Marked for Removal

Tasha Reed called Marcus shortly after seven the next morning.
Her mother had watched a moving truck pull up beside the vacant house on Willow Bend.
Three workers were carrying furniture through the broken back door.
The housing officer had told Tasha that the children were safe, but the property manager had still not explained why the door had been left unsecured for weeks.
“I don’t want to interfere with people doing their jobs,” Tasha said.
“I just don’t want them destroying something that belongs to the children’s family.”
Marcus asked whether she had contacted the housing officer.
“I left a message.”
“Then give them time to return it,” he said.
“And keep your mother away from the truck.”
“She already took a lawn chair outside.

”
Marcus closed his eyes.
“Of course she did.”
He called Lionel Brooks, who knew the municipal inspection process better than anyone else at the birthday cookout.
Lionel explained that a property owner could remove abandoned furniture under certain conditions, but the city would need to know whether the building had been cleared and whether anyone’s belongings were being held for safekeeping.
“That isn’t something you can determine from the sidewalk,” Lionel warned.
“I don’t intend to,” Marcus said.
“I need the right questions, not a reason to enter.”
Lionel gave him the number of the city housing liaison and promised to call back if he learned anything public about the work order.
By eight thirty, Tasha reported that a woman in a bright orange coat had arrived and stopped the workers.


She had introduced herself as a family services representative.
The crew unloaded two boxes from the truck and placed them back inside the house.
The workers looked irritated, but they complied.
Marcus felt a brief surge of relief.
Then Tasha said something that made him sit upright.
“One of the workers told my mother they were sent because the house was on a neighborhood danger list,” she said.
“What list?” Marcus asked.
“He said he didn’t know.”
Marcus remembered the flyer that had paired his birthday photograph with the vacant house.
A false neighborhood warning had now become a reason someone offered for clearing a building where children had recently taken shelter.
He called Evelyn Park and explained the sequence without exaggerating what he knew.
Evelyn listened carefully.
“You are not acting as incident commander on this,” she reminded him.
“I know.”
“Then let the city handle the house.”
“I am,” Marcus replied.
“But I want to understand why my family was pulled into its story.”
Evelyn paused.
“That is a different question,” she said.
“And you have every right to ask it.”

Chapter Eleven: Harold’s Signature