Chapter 1 - The Child Behind Pillar 4B
The shadow huddled against the oil-stained concrete moved with excruciating slowness.
Blake Harrington crouched, the cold dampness of the garage floor seeping through his tailored wool trousers. He reached out a hand, extending it carefully into the gloom behind the maintenance cart. The fluorescent light flickered overhead, casting long, stark shadows across the underground cavern.
A little girl squeezed tighter into the corner. She couldn't have been more than six years old. Her dark hair was tangled, plastered to her forehead with sweat and rain, and her thin canvas shoes were caked with drying mud. Wrapped around her small frame was a heavy charcoal suit jacket—his jacket, which he had left hanging on a hook near his personal garage stall hours earlier while overseeing a late delivery of corporate signage.
She clutched the oversized lapels together with raw, reddened knuckles, shivering uncontrollably.
"Hey there," Blake said softly, keeping his voice down so it wouldn't echo against the concrete pillars. "It's okay. I won't hurt you. How did you get down here?"
The girl’s dark eyes were huge, hollowed by a fatigue no child should ever know. She swallowed hard, her chest heaving under the coat.
“Are you the bad building man?” she asked. Her voice was thin, raspy from the wet cough that had betrayed her hiding spot.
The phrase struck Blake like an unexpected blow to the chest. "The... what?"
"The bad building man," she repeated, her chin trembling. "Mommy said the bad building man took our home on Riverside. She said he signed a paper and the police came and made us leave. She told me to hide here because it was dry, while she went to find the medicine man for my brother."
Blake felt the air leave his lungs. Riverside. The acquisition he had just celebrated with eighty-floor views and vintage champagne. The thirty acres of prime lakefront land that his legal department had cleared for demolition three weeks ago, assuring him that all tenant relocations had been handled seamlessly under standard municipal guidelines.
"What is your name?" Blake asked, his throat suddenly bone-dry.
"Lily," she whispered. "Lily Vance."
Blake reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his phone. He illuminated the screen, casting a warm glow between them. "Lily, where is your mother right now?"
"Over there," Lily pointed toward the dark pedestrian exit ramp leading up to Michigan Avenue. "She told me to stay behind the big post until she came back. But her phone stopped lighting up, and it's cold."
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Blake stood up slowly, a sudden, heavy dread settling into the pit of his stomach. He stripped off his outer overcoat, kneeling back down to wrap the warm, dry fleece-lined garment completely around Lily's small shoulders.
"Come on, Lily," Blake said gently, slipping his hands under her arms and lifting her. She weighed almost nothing, her small frame surprisingly light against his chest. "Let's go find your mother."
