Chapter 3 - The Sunroom and the Sun
The sunroom occupied the southern glass bow of the third floor, overlooking four acres of formal gardens that fell away toward the tree-lined banks of the Des Plaines River. It was a space my mother had loved—filled with tall ficus trees, wrought-iron planters, and oversized linen sectionals bathed in uninterrupted, golden morning light.
When I opened the French doors, the room smelled of hot butter, maple syrup, and the faint, sweet scent of orange peel.
Lily was sitting in the middle of a massive cream-colored armchair, her small legs sticking straight out in front of her. Her white brace had been unstrapped; it lay on the low glass coffee table beside a plate piled high with golden French toast, thick slices of bacon, and a small glass bowl filled with fresh blackberries.
Anna was sitting on the floor beside the chair, her head resting against the cushion, her eyes closed in an exhaustion so deep she didn't hear the latch click.
Lily saw me first.
She froze, her fork halfway to her mouth, the berry on the tines trembling slightly. Her eyes grew wide, dark, and defensive.
"Mr. Moretti," she whispered, her tiny voice catching. She began to scramble backward on the cushions, reaching down with both hands to try and pull her unbuckled brace toward her leg. "I didn't break anything up here. I stayed on the soft chair."
Anna woke instantly, her head snapping up. Seeing me standing in the doorway, she scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping on the hem of her gray service skirt. She smoothed her apron frantically with trembling palms, her face pale with terror.
"Mr. Moretti—I am so sorry, sir—Marcus told us to come up here, he said you authorized it, but we can go down to the staff annex immediately—"
"Sit down, Anna," I said, stepping inside and letting the doors swing shut behind me.
I walked over to the armchair, picked up the white polypropylene brace from the glass table, and examined it under the sunlight.
Up close, the cruelty was even more apparent.
The inner padding had worn down to the hard plastic shell months ago; someone had tried to fix it by duct-taping a piece of yellow kitchen sponge over the metal hinge to keep it from chewing into the child’s skin. The straps were frayed, the Velcro clogged with lint and dog hair, losing its grip so that the hinge slipped sideways every time the child put weight on her heel.
"Who fitted this?" I asked, turning the brace in my hands.
"A clinic on Western Avenue," Anna said, her voice dropping to a low, painful rasp. "Ten months ago. They... they told me she was supposed to get a revision every ninety days as she grew. But the office downstairs told me our group insurance policy had a high-deductible exclusion for congenital orthopedic devices. Every time I asked Evelyn for the claims form, she told me the premiums had gone up and I owed the house six hundred dollars before the paperwork could be sent."
"You don't owe the house anything, Anna," I said.
I set the brace back on the table.
I pulled the chair opposite them out and sat down, leaning my elbows on my knees. I looked at Lily, who was still staring at me like I was a thundercloud that had drifted into her breakfast.
"Do you like the toast?" I asked her.
She nodded once, very slowly. "The yellow bread is sweet."
"Good. Eat the rest of it."
She looked at her mother, who gave her a small, tearful nod. Lily carefully slid the blackberry into her mouth, chewing with small, methodical bites, her eyes never leaving my face.
"Anna," I said, leaning back. "Your brother Peter was a good man. When the hijacked trucks came into the south gate two years ago, he didn't run. He locked the gates from the inside and held the line until Leo and I arrived with the crews. If he hadn't done that, forty of my people would have been caught in an ambush."
Anna’s eyes welled with tears, her fingers twisting the fabric of her apron into tight knots. "Peter always spoke of you with respect, Mr. Moretti. He told me... he told me that if anything ever happened to him on the water, you were a man of your word."
"I am," I said. "And that means the people who work under this roof are my responsibility. Not just their labor. Their lives."
I reached into my breast pocket and pulled out the blue ledger folder Norah had given me, along with the cashier's check I had just drafted in my study.
"Evelyn Crane has been removed from this property," I said simply. "She will not be returning. Her accounts have been frozen, and her brother-in-law's firm is currently being audited by the state."
Anna gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Evelyn... she’s gone?"
"She’s gone," I said. "And the four hundred and twenty dollars she stole from your wages every month for the last fifteen months is being returned to you with interest." I placed the cashier's check on the low table beside the plate of toast. "That’s six thousand three hundred dollars in back pay. Plus an additional ten thousand for medical damages."
Anna stared at the check as if it were a live grenade. "Mr. Moretti... no. I can’t take this. I work for my wages. I just wanted the floor fixed so she wouldn't fall—"
"You didn't ask for charity, Anna. You asked for a three-inch cut of marble to be beveled," I said, my voice hardening slightly with the resolve of a man who had seen too much injustice masquerading as management. "The floor is being fixed today. At ten o'clock, a commercial stone-cutting crew will be at the service door. By dinner, that threshold will be flat as a billiard table."
Lily stopped chewing. "The bump is going away?"
I looked at the girl and smiled—a real smile, the kind that felt strange on my face after years of syndicate meetings and court hearings. "The bump is going away forever, Lily. You're never going to bang your knee on that stone again."
"And the bad lady?" Lily asked, her small brow furrowing. "The one with the shiny hair who said I was clumsy?"
"She had to find another house," I said softly. "A house with no children in it."
Anna was weeping openly now, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking with the silent, tectonic release of fifteen months of terror. She didn't have to hide her mail anymore. She didn't have to choose between fresh milk and a replacement strap for a four-year-old’s leg.
I stood up, adjusting the cuffs of my shirt.
"Anna," I said, pausing at the French doors. "At two o'clock, a car is coming to take you and Lily to the Lurie Children’s Pavilion downtown. I called Dr. Aris Thorne twenty minutes ago. He is the chief of pediatric orthopedics at Northwestern. He’s going to cast Lily for a custom titanium-carbon brace. One that doesn't use kitchen sponges to protect her skin."
Anna looked up, her amber eyes swimming with tears. "Mr. Moretti... how can I ever pay you back for this?"
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"You don't pay me back," I told her, my hand on the brass door handle. "You just teach that girl that she never has to apologize to any man’s floor again."
I stepped out into the quiet corridor and pulled the doors shut, leaving the little girl with the rabbit to finish her French toast in the sunlight.
