Chapter 3 - The Third Floor Walk-Up
The hallway of 412 East 138th Street smelled of damp plaster, old garbage, and burnt natural gas.
Daniel climbed the narrow, creaking wooden stairs behind Ruth and Emma. Every breath he took inside the building produced a visible cloud of white vapor. The temperature inside the stairwell couldn't have been more than thirty-four degrees.
"The radiator pipes haven't knocked since October," Ruth said over her shoulder, her knees cracking with every step. "We complained to the housing board, but Apex Holdings just pays the minimum fines and ignores the court summons. It's cheaper for them to pay fines than to spend eighty thousand dollars replacing an industrial boiler."
Daniel reached the third floor. His boots clicked on the cracked linoleum.
Ruth unlocked the heavy brass padlock on Apartment 3B and pushed the door open.
The air inside was thick, stagnant, and sickly sweet with the smell of unvented gas. A single blue flame flickered on the kitchen stove, throwing faint, inadequate heat into a tiny living room furnished with mismatched, donated furniture.
"Mommy?" Emma called out, slipping off her thin sneakers at the door. "I'm home. I brought Santa's scarf."
From the small bedroom down the dark hallway, a harsh, painful cough sounded—a wet, rattling scrape that made Daniel’s jaw tighten.
"Emma, baby?" a weak, raspy voice answered. "Did you stay close to Miss Ruth?"
"Yes, Mommy. And a man came with us."
Daniel stepped into the narrow hallway, taking off his heavy wool overcoat. He felt the cold seeping through the floorboards.
He knocked gently on the open bedroom door.
Sitting on a narrow bed wrapped in three thick, faded quilts was Sarah Miller. She looked impossibly young, her face pale and hollowed by disease, dark purple shadows bruised beneath her eyes. Transparent plastic oxygen tubing was hooked around her ears, leading to a loud, humming mechanical concentrator sitting on the floor.
She tried to sit up higher when she saw Daniel, her eyes widening with immediate defensiveness.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice hovering just above a whisper. "Are you from the landlord? We paid December’s rent... I sent the money order—"
"Mrs. Miller, please don't get up," Daniel said quickly, stepping forward and holding up his hands. "My name is Daniel Mercer. I run Mercer Climate Systems."
Sarah frowned, her brow furrowing with confusion. "Mercer? Like... Charlie Mercer?"
Daniel stopped. "You knew Charlie?"
A small, faint smile touched Sarah's blue-tinted lips. "Charlie came here two years ago when our radiator valve exploded. He fixed it himself on a Sunday night. He told me... he told me if anything ever happened to him, his company would still take care of us. But after he passed away last winter... no one came."
Daniel felt a wave of profound shame wash over him. For eleven months, he had been sitting in his glass-walled penthouse office in Midtown, reviewing profit margins and international expansion plans, while Charlie’s promises were dying in cold Harlem apartments.
"I'm here now, Sarah," Daniel said softly. "And I am so sorry it took me this long."
Heavy footsteps echoed down the stairwell outside.
The apartment door swung open, and Joe Kowalski walked in, carrying two massive industrial heating units over his shoulders like duffel bags, followed by two junior technicians carrying insulated ducting and heavy electrical cables.
Joe looked around the freezing room, his breath fogging in the air, then looked at Daniel.
"Where do you want the heat, boss?" Joe asked.
"Right here," Daniel said, pointing toward Sarah's bedroom. "Clear the windows, set up the temporary heat exchangers, and run the exhaust lines out the rear fire escape. I want this room at seventy-two degrees in fifteen minutes."
"You got it," Joe said, stripping off his heavy work jacket.
Sarah stared at the technicians moving efficiently through her small home, then looked up at Daniel, tears welling in her tired eyes.
"Mr. Mercer... I can't pay for this," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I don't have insurance for this kind of work. My savings are gone... the medical bills—"
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Daniel sat down on the small wooden chair beside her bed. He took her cold, thin hand in his own, holding it gently.
"Sarah," Daniel said, his voice steady and quiet. "Charlie left me a book. Your name is on the last page. This isn't a bill. This is a debt I owed my best friend."
