Chapter 2 - The Measure of a Man
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Clara Whitfield knelt on the hardwood floor outside the library, her knees aching against the polished wood. She was twenty-seven, dressed in a plain gray uniform and a white apron, her hands red and raw from bleach and hot water.
She heard the heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.
Guests were never allowed on the second floor without Raphael, and servants were expected to be invisible when business was conducted. Clara grabbed her mop bucket, frantic. She had only seconds.
She slipped behind a massive mahogany display cabinet in the hallway, pressing her back flat against the wall, holding her breath.
The library door opened, but it didn't latch completely when it closed. Through the narrow gap, Clara saw Otto Brennan, a massive, red-faced transportation contractor, sweating profusely in one of the leather guest chairs.
Raphael sat behind his massive desk. He poured Brennan a glass of water.
"Howerin," Raphael said.
His voice was so quiet Clara had to strain to hear it over the sound of the rain hitting the windows.
Brennan shifted uncomfortably. "Mr. Duca, I can explain. The insurance paperwork got held up in accounting. You know how the unions are. I assure you, the family will get their check next month."
"Howerin fell from a loading crane on your site last winter," Raphael continued, ignoring Brennan's panicked babbling. "He shattered his spine. He cannot walk. Yesterday, his wife went to a priest in the North End because she cannot feed her children. The insurance money collected from my docks never reached her."
"I have the money!" Brennan blurted out, wiping his forehead. "I'll pay it back. Double. Three times! You know me, Raphael. I have a wife. I have kids."
Raphael did not raise his voice. He reached out and unbuckled his wristwatch.
"The doctors estimate it took Howerin one minute and thirty seconds to drag his paralyzed legs across the concrete floor before someone heard him calling for help," Raphael said, placing the watch on the desk, the face turned toward Brennan.
"I have personally measured the distance," Raphael added smoothly. "You have one minute and thirty seconds to explain yourself, Otto."
Silence fell over the library. Brennan opened his mouth, but no words came out. He stared at the ticking watch, the realization of his doom settling over him like a suffocating blanket.
Clara stood frozen behind the cabinet. A single drop of dirty water fell from her cleaning cloth onto the floor with a soft plip.
When the time ran out, Raphael stood up. He slowly buttoned his suit jacket.
"Milo," Raphael called out.
The library door opened instantly. Milo, a towering, silent driver with dead eyes, stepped inside.
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"Take Mr. Brennan downstairs," Raphael ordered.
The door closed. Clara remained pressed against the wall long after the footsteps faded. She was terrified, yes. But beneath the terror was a strange, undeniable awe. The rumors painted Raphael Duca as a monster. But the monster had just destroyed a corrupt businessman over a paralyzed dock worker nobody else cared about.
