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“Yeah?”
“Be careful, okay? And don’t do this just for me. If you’re gonna burn the house down, make sure it’s because you want to because if they go after you, you could lost everything.”
“Ugh. Don’t be dramatic, Jeremy. Get off my phone.”
I try not to get sentimental.
“Love you, Poison Ivy.”
“Love you too, Flamingo.”
He laughs, and so do I. It started when we were kids—after he lost his leg. I was eight, he was eleven, hopping on one foot around the house when I blurted out that he looked like a flamingo. Instead of getting mad, he grinned and said, “Better a flamingo than poison ivy. At least people like flamingos.”
That was Jeremy. Always choosing the joke over the pain. We never stopped using those names.
My brother lost his leg. My mom lost her job. And we all lost our home. She used to be a nurse—sharp, focused, gentle. But after the eviction, after the storm, she just… faded. Thank God for my aunt. She owned a flower shop and took Mom in. Gave her a job. Gave her purpose. They’re rebranding now, turning it into a partnership. A second chance.
Twenty Years Ago:
“I’m fine, Anna. The kids and I are getting a hotel for a few days. I’ll cash in my 401k and get us a new place,” my mom said, too proud to take help.
But we weren’t in a hotel. We were in her car.
At first, it was manageable. But then the storm hit. And everything changed.
“Jeremy? Honey, breathe—please,” my mom begged, frantic.“Someone help! Ivy, call 911!”
Two Weeks Before That:
“You can’t evict me. I’m only a few weeks late. I’ll have the money for this month and next before the month ends—just give me time!”
“Time? Everyone wants time. This ain’t a charity. Rent’s due on the first. It’s the 21st. You’re out.”
“We don’t have anywhere to go. Please.”
“Not my problem. You’re twenty days late. I can legally kick you out. Now move it, lady.”
Present Day:
Legally, my ass.
There was no eviction notice. No court filing. And that check my mom wrote? It was never cashed. The landlord lied. And under the weight of everything—divorce, job loss, fear—my mom just shut down.
Weeks later, the unit was demolished. Another tenant was evicted under the same false pretenses. Her credit was ruined. She couldn’t rent another apartment, so she rented a single bedroom from a relative. She and her kids shared it until she could crawl her way back.
And that’s why I do this. That’s why this story matters.
Because it wasn’t just my family. It’s hundreds. All over New York City.
And someone has to answer for it.
CHAPTER 12
Carter
She’s been in spreadsheet mode all afternoon, laser-focused and tucked into that damn laptop. A knock on the door saves me from begging for her attention.
What is it about this woman? I’ve traveled all over the world, and I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve never had a problem getting laid. But with Ivy, it’s different. I love that she hasn’t asked me about my company or focused on how much money I have or anything like that. She’s genuinely into me for me.