Chapter 11
Tessa picked up the fork. Her hand shook so badly that the first piece of veal fell. She picked it up again, managed to place it in her mouth, and closed her eyes. A single tear traveled through the dust on her cheek. Then she ate. Quickly. Desperately. Like someone afraid the food might be taken away. Zo watched her. A hard knot formed inside his chest. He had spent his entire life building a fortress to keep monsters outside. He had only just realized that he had allowed someone to starve inside one of its hallways. The following morning, the Rossi estate woke to its usual grim efficiency. Perimeter guards changed shifts at 6:00 a.m. Delivery trucks arrived with the day’s provisions at 6:30. At 7:00, Zo sat in his third-floor study. He had not slept. The crumpled medical bills from Tessa’s bag lay across his desk. For the previous 3 hours, he had been dissecting them.
Extortion was something Zo understood. A protection racket was simple. Pay the fee. Keep your windows intact. The American medical system, however, operated with a level of bureaucratic cruelty that even a syndicate boss found distasteful. At least the people in Zo’s world had the decency to look someone in the eye while taking their money. Mia Cole. Age 7. Type 1 diabetes. The paperwork represented thousands of dollars in overdue balances for endocrinology visits, emergency room treatment from before her diagnosis, insulin, and pump supplies. Collection warnings had been printed in aggressive red letters. WAGE GARNISHMENT. Zo stared at the words. Taking money from a woman who glued her shoes together so her child could eat.
The heavy oak door opened. Gabe entered carrying a folder. He looked tired. “I made the calls.” He dropped the folder onto Zo’s desk. “You were right to have me look into it. The collection agency handling the Cole account is a subsidiary of a firm operating out of the South Side. Mostly legitimate, but they use heavy-handed tactics. Phone harassment. Threatening letters. Showing up at her apartment building.” Zo looked at the red print on the bills. “They bother her at home?” “According to the neighbors I sent the boys to speak with, yes. Loud banging on the door at night. Scaring the kid.”
