Chapter 2 - The Room Above the Bakery
Simeon did not ask the children another question until they were warm.
That mattered to Noah.
Adults usually wanted answers before comfort.
Simeon gave them the apartment above the bakery that had once belonged to the pastry chef. It was small but clean, with two bedrooms, an old green sofa, and radiators that knocked like somebody tapping inside the walls.
Lucy stood in the doorway.
“Are we allowed to sleep here?”
“Yes.”
“For how many nights?”
“As many as necessary.”
She frowned. “That’s not a number.”
Simeon almost laughed.
Noah did not.
“What do you want?”
Simeon looked at him. “Tonight? I want you to sleep.”
“No. From us.”
“Nothing.”
“People always want something.”
That sentence hurt more than accusation.
Simeon sat on the sofa, leaving space between them.
“Then you don’t have to trust me tonight.”
Noah’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re not mad?”
“I’m sad you learned to ask that.”
Lucy wandered toward the kitchen.
“Is there cereal?”
“Three kinds.”
She gasped as if he had announced treasure.
Noah caught her sleeve.
“Don’t take too much.”
Simeon said, “Take as much as you’re hungry for.”
Noah looked at him sharply.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
“Because then she’ll believe you.”
Simeon had no answer.
At ten-thirty, his longtime attorney, Miriam Shaw, arrived with a laptop and a face that suggested she had left a warm bed for something serious.
Simeon showed her Clara’s note.
Miriam read it silently.
“Victor?”
“So she says.”
“Do you believe her?”
“I should have believed her twenty-two years ago.”
Miriam glanced toward the bedroom where Lucy slept.
“What happened then?”
Simeon knew she was not asking for the polished family version.
He rubbed his hands together.
“Clara worked in the office after college. Victor was twenty-five. She accused him of moving tenant deposits into a private account.”
“And?”
“He showed me records suggesting Clara had done it.”
“Did you investigate?”
“I confronted her.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No.”
Miriam’s expression hardened.
“She left?”
“I told her if she couldn’t respect the family, she couldn’t work for it.”
“And Victor?”
“I promoted him.”
Noah stood in the hallway.
“You promoted him?”
Simeon turned.
The boy’s face was furious.
“You kicked my mom out and gave him her job?”
“I was wrong.”
“That doesn’t fix it.”
“No.”
“Stop agreeing with me!”
Simeon flinched.
Noah’s eyes filled.
“My mom cried when she talked about you. She said you used to make pancakes shaped like animals. She said you taught her to ride a bike. She kept your stupid blue ribbon for twenty years.”
“What ribbon?”
Noah stormed into the bedroom and returned with a faded blue ribbon from Clara’s bag.
“She won this when she was eight.”
Simeon knew it immediately.
County spelling bee.
Clara had misspelled “necessary” in the final round and cried because second place felt like failure.
He had tied the ribbon around her ponytail and told her second place was still a reason for ice cream.
She had kept it.
His eyes burned.
“Where did you get her bag?”
“She left it with us.”
“At the clinic?”
“No. At the laundromat.”
Simeon looked at Miriam.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
Noah sat down reluctantly.
The story came in pieces.
Clara had been cleaning offices at night and working breakfast shifts at a diner. Their landlord raised the rent. She fell behind after Lucy developed pneumonia and Clara missed work.
Then Clara began having dizzy spells.
She hid them.
Last week she collapsed.
A volunteer clinic diagnosed severe anemia and something they wanted tested urgently.
Clara refused hospitalization because she feared losing the apartment.
Yesterday the eviction notice arrived anyway.
She took the children to a twenty-four-hour laundromat.
At dawn, she went to St. Anne’s for blood work.
Before leaving, she gave Noah the notes.
“If I’m not back by noon, find Simeon Bennett.”
She never returned.
Simeon called the clinic.
A nurse confirmed Clara checked in at 7:14 a.m.
At 8:02, she left through the side entrance before completing treatment.
“Was she alone?”
The nurse hesitated.
“A man came asking for her.”
“What man?”
“He said he was family.”
“Name?”
“He signed Victor Bennett.”
Simeon stood so quickly the coffee table shook.
Miriam said, “Don’t call him yet.”
“I’m calling him.”
“Then you warn him.”
“He took my daughter from a clinic.”
“We don’t know that.”
Noah said, “I do.”
Both adults turned.
“Mom saw him yesterday.”
“Where?”
“Outside the diner.”
“What happened?”
“She told us to stay in the bathroom.”
Simeon’s stomach tightened.
“What did Victor say?”
“I heard some.”
“Tell me exactly.”
Noah closed his eyes.
“He said, ‘You should’ve stayed gone.’ Mom said, ‘I want what belongs to my kids.’ He said, ‘They don’t belong in this family.’”
Miriam went still.
“What belongs to your kids?”
Noah shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Simeon did.
Or thought he did.
When Clara’s mother, Evelyn, died twelve years ago, she left a trust for future grandchildren. Simeon had assumed Clara had no children because Victor repeatedly told him she had moved overseas.
The trust was worth nearly three million dollars.
If Noah and Lucy were legally Clara’s children, they were beneficiaries.
And Victor had been acting trustee.
Miriam opened her laptop.
“Let’s pull distributions.”
The records showed annual administrative fees.
Large ones.
Paid to Bennett Property Management.
Victor’s company.
Simeon stared.
“He’s been taking money from a trust he claimed had no beneficiaries.”
“For how long?”
“Twelve years.”
Noah whispered, “Could that buy food?”
Simeon looked at him.
“Yes.”
“A house?”
“Yes.”
“Medicine?”
“Yes.”
The boy’s face changed.
Not greed.
Grief.
“My mom worked two jobs.”
Simeon had to look away.
His phone rang.
Victor.
Miriam raised one finger.
Be careful.
Simeon answered.
“Uncle.”
Victor sounded cheerful.
“I heard you had excitement at the bakery.”
“How?”
“Dana called me.”
Simeon looked toward the rain-dark window.
“Why would Dana call you?”
“I hired her.”
“You told me the manager hired her.”
A pause.
“Same difference.”
“No.”
Victor’s voice cooled slightly.
“What’s going on?”
“Two children came in.”
Another pause.
Longer.
“Street kids?”
Simeon watched Noah.
“They said their mother is Clara.”
Silence.
Then Victor laughed.
“Uncle, Clara doesn’t have children.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I keep track.”
The words were out before Victor could retrieve them.
Simeon leaned back.
“Do you?”
Victor changed tone.
“Listen, there are scammers everywhere. Don’t let two kids manipulate you because you’re lonely.”
Noah heard every word.
His face went red.
Simeon said, “Come to the bakery tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked.”
“I have meetings.”
“Cancel them.”
Victor sighed.
“Fine.”
He hung up.
Miriam stared at Simeon.
“He knows.”
“Yes.”
“About the children?”
“Yes.”
Noah whispered, “He knows where Mom is too.”
Simeon looked at the boy.
“Maybe.”
“No.”
Noah pointed toward the phone.
“He does.”
“How can you tell?”
“Because Mom talks like that when she lies.”
Simeon almost corrected him.
Then stopped.
Children who had spent years reading adult moods often noticed what comfortable adults missed.
At midnight, Miriam found something else.
The deed to Clara’s former apartment building.
The property had been purchased three years earlier by a shell company.
Owner: V.B. Residential Holdings.
Victor Bennett.
Simeon stared.
“Victor was Clara’s landlord?”
“Indirectly.”
“He raised her rent?”
“Looks like it.”
Noah stood behind them.
“So he knew where we lived.”
“Yes.”
“And he still let us get kicked out.”
Simeon felt a fury older than the storm.
Then someone pounded on the bakery’s downstairs door.
Three hard knocks.
Simeon checked the security camera.
Dana stood outside.
No umbrella.
Mascara running down her face.
She held a cardboard file box.
When Simeon opened the door, she pushed inside.
“You need to hide those kids.”
“Why?”
Dana looked upstairs.
“Because Victor didn’t hire me to sell bread.”
May you like
Her hands shook.
“He hired me to call him if Clara’s children ever came through that door.”
