Chapter 7 - The Courthouse Steps
The wind swept down Clark Street, whipping dirty snow into small cyclones against the grey limestone facade of the Cook County Courthouse. A dozen local news vans were parked along the curb, their broadcast antennas extended into the overcast sky.
Vincent Miller stood at the base of the courthouse steps, surrounded by microphones and half a dozen eager local reporters. He was wearing an ill-fitting trench coat, trying desperately to look like an aggrieved working-class citizen.
"I’m just an ordinary guy trying to keep his properties running!" Miller barked into the microphones, waving a sheaf of papers. "This girl, Tessa Cole, skipped out on twenty-two thousand dollars in lawful debts. And who helps her? Zo Rossi! A billionaire who thinks he can use private muscle and private money to trample the little guy! Where is justice for the landlords? Where is justice for—"
A low rumble cut through his speech.
Three gleaming black Escalades pulled smoothly up to the red curb, accompanied by two marked Cook County Sheriff cruisers.
The press immediately turned their cameras away from Miller.
Marcus stepped out of the lead vehicle and opened my door. I stepped onto the slushy sidewalk, wearing a charcoal wool overcoat over an Italian suit. Beside me emerged Harrison Crane, followed by two armed deputies and Assistant State’s Attorney Marcus Campbell.
Miller’s voice trailed off. His face turned a sick, mottled grey as he recognized the men flanking me.
"Mr. Rossi!" a female reporter shouted, thrusting a microphone toward me. "Are you harboring a debtor at your estate? Is it true you used private security to intimidate Mr. Miller?"
I ignored the microphones. I walked deliberately up the stone steps until I was standing three feet above Vincent Miller, looking down at him.
"You wanted an audience, Miller," I said, my voice ringing out clearly over the street noise. "Here it is."
Miller tried to puff out his chest, clutching his papers like a shield. "You think you can scare me, Rossi? I got rights! I’m filing the suit right now!"
"You aren't filing anything," Harrison Crane stepped forward, pulling a blue-backed legal document from his leather briefcase. "Mr. Miller, this is a formal indictment issued twenty minutes ago by the Cook County Grand Jury."
The reporters gasped, the camera shutters clicking in a deafening frenzy.
"Indictment for what?" Miller sneered, his voice cracking. "That's garbage!"
"Fourteen counts of predatory fraud," Assistant State's Attorney Campbell announced, stepping into the center of the camera lights. "Nine counts of criminal usury, six counts of extortion under color of official right, and three counts of felony bribery of a municipal building inspector."
Miller backed up a step, his eyes darting frantically toward the street. "You... you can't prove that!"
"We have the cancelled checks to Inspector Thomas," Campbell said coldly. "We have the forensic analysis confirming you forged Evelyn Cole's signature on a fraudulent loan note. And as of eight o'clock this morning, the Illinois Department of Financial and Professional Regulation has seized your operating accounts and placed all seven of your properties into court-appointed receivership."
"You ruined me!" Miller lunged forward, his face contorted in rage, spitting as he screamed directly at me. "You bastard! You did this for a cleaning girl?"
Before Miller could take another step, two sheriff’s deputies grabbed him by the arms, twisted them behind his back, and slammed him face-first against the cold limestone balustrade.
*Click. Snap.*
The handcuffs locked into place around his wrists.
I stepped down until I was inches from his ear. The reporters leaned forward, desperate to catch my words, but I kept my voice low so only he could hear.
"You put your hands on Tessa Cole's throat," I whispered. "You threw a brick through a window where two little boys were sleeping. Be grateful you're leaving here in handcuffs, Miller. If we were living in my father's Chicago, you wouldn't be leaving at all."
The deputies hauled him down the steps toward the waiting squad car, Miller cursing and thrashing against their grip as the cameras flashed relentlessly.
I turned back to the bank of news cameras.
"Mr. Rossi!" the lead reporter shouted. "What will happen to the tenants in Miller’s buildings?"
"The Rossi Foundation has established an emergency relief fund to cover the utility debts and structural repairs for every family living in Mr. Miller's properties," I announced into the microphones. "No one will be evicted. No one will freeze this winter."
"And what about Tessa Cole?"
I looked directly into the camera lens, knowing that back at the gatehouse, Tessa and the boys were watching the live broadcast on the television Marco had set up for them.
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"Miss Cole is not a debtor," I said firmly. "She is a woman of extraordinary courage and integrity. And as long as I draw breath, she and her family will never have to worry about where they sleep or what they eat again."
***
