Chapter 7 - Six Front Doors, One Street
The Alder Street meeting took place in the community center where Nia had once learned to repair her first washing machine. Ms. Inez refused to call it a rally.
"A rally sounds like somebody else has to be impressed," she said. "This is a meeting. Folks need to decide what they want."
Nia arranged folding chairs in a circle rather than rows. She had learned from her mother that people spoke more freely when there was no stage. A table by the entrance held coffee, bottled water, and photocopies of the old access agreement Dana had obtained from the city archive.
Six homeowners arrived. Then a dozen renters. Then neighbors who had moved away but still had family on the block. Not everybody agreed. Ruth Campbell wanted to keep her house until she died. Andre Hopkins needed money to put his daughter through college. The Okafors were considering retirement in another state.
"I don't want anybody telling me I'm selling out because I'm tired," Andre said.
"I'm not asking that," Nia replied. "I'm asking whether you know why the buyer wants the strip behind our houses, and whether the papers they showed you are genuine. You can make your own decision after that."
Dana explained the difference between a recorded maintenance-access agreement and consent to build a private driveway. She was careful to describe what the paperwork showed and what would still need to be decided by the city or a court.
"One forged signature is dangerous," she said. "Six forged signatures suggest somebody wanted the city to believe an entire block agreed when it hadn't. We need every owner to make a separate written statement about their own signature."
An elderly man near the back raised his hand. "Will we lose our homes if we sign statements?"
"I can't promise there won't be pressure," Dana said. "I can promise the statements don't sell your property. You'll read yours before you sign."
Nia watched faces change. They were not waiting for a millionaire to save them. They wanted to know what would happen if they opened their own front doors tomorrow.
Near the end of the meeting, a woman named Sharon stood up. She rented the downstairs apartment in Ruth's house and worked nights at the hospital. "My landlord told me somebody offered to buy this place with me still in it. Is that legal?"
"There are different kinds of sales and different tenant rights," Dana said. "Let's look at your lease and what they actually proposed."
"All right," Sharon said. "But I want my name in this conversation. I've raised two kids in that apartment."
Nia nodded. "You should be in it."
When the meeting ended, Ruth stood beside the door collecting contact details from people who wanted updates. Nobody was enrolled without asking. Gabriel helped stack chairs, moving slowly around Nia rather than stepping in front of her every time someone asked a hard question.
"You're learning," she told him.
"I can also make coffee without putting the grounds in twice."
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves."
They laughed. It felt strange, laughing about coffee while someone tried to take their house, but Nia was grateful for the sound.
On the sidewalk a local reporter approached her. Graham had sent the station a statement alleging that Nia was spreading unfounded accusations and that Gabriel had attacked a respected businessman. The reporter wanted Nia's response on camera.
"I'll speak about what happened to me," Nia said. "I won't put my baby on television. And I want the clip to include the part before the punch."
The reporter said the station only had the shortened version. Nia directed her to Dana, who had arranged for a neighbor's doorbell footage to be preserved. The camera overlooked the kitchen's side entrance. Its image was grainy, but it showed Graham grab Nia's wrist, Gabriel step between them, Graham swing the clipboard, and Gabriel strike once before retreating.
The reporter agreed to review the full sequence and seek a response from Graham.
Later, Graham's attorney sent Dana a letter demanding that Nia retract her public allegations. Dana advised her not to argue with the lawyer through social media. She drafted a response attaching the disputed signatures, the identity-fraud complaint number, and the order pausing the sale.
"I'm tired of paper," Gabriel said when Dana finished.
"Paper's kept them from closing on your home," Nia replied.
He nodded. "Then bring me another stack."
That night Nia found Odessa's casserole on Lenora's kitchen counter. Lenora had transferred it to a dish and baked it herself.
"Thought we'd better use the food before it goes bad," she said. "Doesn't mean I invited that woman in."
Nia ate a small serving. She knew better than to confuse a meal with reconciliation.
At ten o'clock, Patrice Dell, the electronic notary, called Dana back. She had reviewed her session log. The person who appeared live claimed to be Nia but kept her face turned away from the camera. Patrice had terminated the session and marked verification unsuccessful. The certificate attached to Graham's packet did not match what Patrice had issued.
"Somebody replaced it," Dana said afterward. "We have her statement and the audit discrepancy. Authorities can investigate who did it."
Nia let her eyes close. "So I wasn't crazy."
"No," Dana said. "But we don't need that phrase. You said it wasn't yours, and you were right to insist on checking."
The next morning the city posted a notice for a public hearing about the proposed access-road permit. It was scheduled for Friday.
Alongside the notice was a map showing the planned driveway straight through six gardens.
May you like
Nia counted the houses. There were six on the map, just as Elsie's agreement had said.
But the city had mailed hearing notices to only three.
