Chapter 7
Arthur Davis pushed the door open the rest of the way, revealing a cramped, sparsely furnished living room. A small television played cartoons at a low volume in the corner, and the air smelled of stale coffee and laundry detergent. Sitting at a small dinette table near the kitchen alcove was the boy from the gala, still wearing the same tan button-down shirt, though the sleeves were rolled up past his elbows.
"Leo," Arthur said, nodding toward his son. "Go on into your room for a minute, buddy."
"I didn't do anything wrong, Dad," the boy said defensively, casting a wary glance at Julian.
"I know you didn't," Julian said, stepping across the threshold and closing the door behind him. "In fact, you saved my life last night. I wanted to tell you that myself."
Leo stopped heading toward the bedroom, turning back to look at Julian with a cautious curiosity. Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable in his own home. He gestured toward a wobbly wooden chair by the table.
"Sit down, Mr. Vance. Sorry about the place. It's not quite up to eighty-four floors."
Julian pulled out the chair and sat down, feeling the cheap wood shift slightly beneath his weight. He looked around the room, noting the neatly stacked piles of books, the worn sofa, and the absence of any real luxury.
"You worked in the kitchens at the grand hotel," Julian said, keeping his tone conversational and devoid of condescension.
"For three years," Arthur replied, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Until last month when I got let go. Said they were downsizing. Truth is, I saw something I shouldn't have. I saw her handing an envelope to the new kid, talking about dosages and quiet exits. I tried to warn management, but security escorted me out before I could reach anyone important."
"And you told Leo?" Julian asked, glancing at the boy.
"I tell my boy everything," Arthur said softly, his jaw tightening. "We don't have much, Mr. Vance, but we have our word. When I saw on the news that you were hosting that gala, and knowing she was going to be there... Leo snuck in. He’s small, smart, quick on his feet. I told him not to go, that rich folks wouldn't listen to a kid from the east side. But he went anyway."
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Julian looked at Leo, who was now standing by the hallway archway, watching them intently. The realization of what could have happened—of the cold, calculated betrayal he had narrowly escaped—surged briefly in his chest, but it was quickly replaced by a profound, grounding sense of clarity.
"Your son has more courage than every single person sitting at that table," Julian said, his voice steady and low. "And I owe him a debt I can't easily repay."
