Chapter 30 - The House They Chose Together
At one in the morning, Roman took Paige home.
She objected until a nurse handed her a granola bar and said, with the calm authority of someone accustomed to unreasonable people, “You are no longer improving this room.”
Roman wisely said nothing.
In the car, Paige leaned her head against the window.
Streetlights blurred across wet glass. The storm had eased, leaving branches scattered along curbs and puddles deep enough to hide potholes.
Boston looked exhausted.
For once, she felt appropriately dressed for it.
At the brownstone, Roman found dry clothes and put the kettle on.
Paige stood in the hallway, looking at the staircase.
Their wedding photographs sat on a side table, still waiting for frames.
They had barely begun living here as husband and wife.
Now she was mentally calculating the property’s value.
Roman noticed.
“You’re doing math.”
“Unfortunately.”
“So am I.”
She turned.
He held an envelope.
“What is that?”
“A preliminary estimate from a broker.”
Her stomach tightened.
“You called a broker?”
“This afternoon. To ask a question.”
“About selling the house.”
“Yes.”
For a moment, all her exhaustion sharpened into anger.
“And when were you going to tell me?”
“Now.”
“That’s not the reassuring answer you think it is.”
Roman set the envelope down.
“I didn’t sign anything. I didn’t list it. I asked what options existed.”
Paige folded her arms.
The old version of him would have solved a problem privately and presented the result as a gift.
The new version sometimes still stopped one step too late.
He seemed to understand that before she explained it.
“I should have asked you before I called.”
“Yes.”
“I’m asking now.”
She looked around the hall.
The house was beautiful. Too large in places. Expensive to heat. Full of rooms they had intended to discover slowly.
It was also the first home they had chosen after Roman surrendered the estate.
Giving it up would mean something.
Keeping it would mean something too.
“Selling this won’t buy six apartment buildings,” she said.
“No.”
“It won’t fix the court case.”
“No.”
“And we cannot keep building public services around whether you have another property to sell.”
Roman nodded.
“I know.”
They sat at the kitchen table.
He explained what he had actually been considering: setting aside a portion of their lawful equity as seed funding for a resident-led purchase, if such a purchase became possible.
Not a private rescue.
Not a building owned by Roman Gallow with grateful tenants beneath him.
A contribution with limits, independent oversight, and no power to take it back when people disagreed.
Paige studied his face.
“You’ve thought about the control part.”
“I’ve had good instruction.”
She looked down at her hands.
Her wrist had begun aching again. Not badly. Enough to remind her that endurance was never as unlimited as she pretended.
“I want us to have a home,” she said quietly.
Roman’s expression changed.
“We will.”
“I don’t mean a roof. I mean somewhere we’re allowed to stop. Somewhere we don’t turn every room into an emergency office.”
He reached across the table.
“Then that belongs in the plan.”
She let him take her hand.
For the first time all night, the decision felt like something they were making together.
They would explore a sale.
They would reserve enough for their own stable future.
They would not make a promise to residents that depended on winning a legal fight no one could guarantee.
And they would sleep before signing anything important.
That last condition came from Paige.
Roman agreed immediately.
His phone rang before they reached the stairs.
The caller was a former business associate whose number he had not used in more than a year.
Roman answered on speaker.
The man offered money.
Fast money.
Enough, he suggested, to make Keene reconsider.
In return, Roman would resume a few old relationships and allow certain people back into waterfront operations.
Nothing ugly, the man said.
Just business.
Paige watched Roman’s face.
There had been a time when that offer would have sounded like power.
Tonight, it sounded like an unlocked door leading backward.
“No,” Roman said.
“You haven’t heard the terms.”
“I know the terms.”
“Your wife’s getting dragged through the papers. Those families need help. You’re going to let paperwork beat you?”
Roman looked at Paige.
Then he said, “My desperation is no longer a business opportunity.”
He ended the call.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Paige stepped close and wrapped her arms around him.
He held her carefully, one hand against the back of her head.
“That sounded expensive,” she murmured.
“It usually is.”
She laughed into his shirt.
At six the next morning, they returned to the shelter.
A housing organizer had arranged a meeting with residents interested in exploring a cooperative purchase. Nothing was promised. The buildings required repairs. Financing would be difficult. Ownership would involve responsibilities people had every right to decline.
Tessa listened from the second row.
Then she raised her hand.
“If we help build this thing, do we get a vote?”
“Yes,” the organizer said.
“Even if we don’t have money to donate?”
“Membership wouldn’t depend on being wealthy.”
Tessa looked at Paige.
That mattered more than any speech could have.
Roman stayed in the back.
When someone asked whether he intended to own the cooperative, he answered plainly.
“No.”
“Then why help?”
He looked around the room.
“Because I know what happens when one man thinks everything around the harbor belongs to him.”
No one applauded.
Paige was glad.
Some statements needed to sit in a room without becoming a performance.
The meeting ended with a list of volunteers, several difficult questions, and a plan to meet again.
It was a small beginning.
It felt more durable than a promise.
Outside, Claire waited beside her car.
Paige knew from her expression that something had changed.
“Ben called,” Claire said.
“Is he safe?”
“Yes. He has his own attorney now.”
“Good.”
Claire hesitated.
“He needs to correct part of his statement before he testifies.”
Roman went still.
“What part?”
“He didn’t merely discover the false records.”
Paige looked through the shelter window at the families eating breakfast.
May you like
Claire continued.
“He helped create them.”
