DEMOLITION

Miles' POV

The hospital lighting was brutal, sterile white, and all felt colder than it had. I sat beside Dad's bed, watching the slow, steady motion of his chest rising and falling. The beep of the monitors was oddly comforting in the quiet. He was stable now. Better at least than yesterday. The doctors indicated he might go home tomorrow morning, but we both knew his health clung by a thread.

I rubbed my face, exhaustion sinking deep into my very bones. The hospital bills were crumpled in my pocket, weighed down with numbers I couldn't even attempt to pay. Three heart attacks in three months—that's what the doctor had said. Three. And then this. I didn't even know how to explain it, how to explain that while he lay there fighting to stay alive, some rich bastards billionaire had swooped in and taken our house from us.

"Dad," I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper. "How did you… how did you find Kaden's Home?"

He smiled a small, tired smile, his eyes twinkling even with the circles under them. "That old story, eh?" he croaked.

"Yeah… I mean, you've told it before. I just… I don't think I ever really listened."

He chuckled, a wheezy, weak noise. "Your mother and I… we arrived in Chicago when she was a couple weeks pregnant with you. We didn't have anything. We'd just discovered she was having a child after going to visit one of those clinics. I was poor, young. shit-scared, really. We couldn't get us a place to live. No one would rent to some newly hired kid and a girl in the family way.".

He paused, coughing delicately, his expression furrowing with pain. I grasped his hand.

"Then we discovered it," he continued. "A half-built, old, boarded-up place on the outskirts of town. Wilson Storage, or at least that's what it was marked then. There'd been a fire. Building was left to rot. No one ever rebuilt it. So… we stayed on. For one evening, we figured. But then it turned into days, then weeks.". No one forced us out, no one cared. We cleaned it up, made it livable. And through the years… we made it what it is now. A home. For us… for others.

I swallowed hard. That building wasn't just bricks and wood. It was Dad's legacy. Our home, built from nothing.

"I have to tell you something," I said softly. "Someone visited today. a man. Graham something. Says he owns the land. Had his men come with official papers."

Dad's expression fell. "Graham. Grayham Wilson?"

I scrunched up my face. "Yeah. Do you know him?"

He nodded slowly, his words dropping to a whisper. "Wilson Industries. they owned the storage unit, before the fire. Guess. we always knew it wasn't ours after all."

"But Dad—

"We can't afford to fight it," he said, cutting me off, his words heavy with resignation. "We don't have lawyers. We don't have influence. He's a billionaire, Miles. If he wants it, he'll take it. And you… you can't put yourself in harm's way trying to stand in his way."

I stared at him, disbelief crashing into my chest. “Dad… it’s our home. We’ve paid taxes, done the repairs, put our blood and sweat into that place for decades. He can’t just walk in and take it.”

"I know," Dad whispered softly, his frail hand tightening on mine. "I know what it means to you. What it means to me. But Miles… it's not worth your life. Or mine." He coughed once more, and I could see how skinny he'd gotten, how tiny and exhausted he seemed in that hospital bed.

But I couldn't drop it. I wouldn't.

~~

By the morning, I was once again at Kaden's Home. The restaurant was closed, lights off, but I did not care. I leaned against the doorframe, standing outside, as the hum of engines ruled the street.

And there he was.

Grayham Wilson. Pulling up in a sleek, matte-black luxury car that looked like it belonged in a museum instead of on cracked pavement. Behind him came another car, and then a goddamn demolition truck. Men in dark suits poured out first—bodyguards, no doubt.

I stood where I was, watching as he approached me. Dressed to the nines, sharp edges, dark hair slicked back, and an attitude that said he was used to getting his way. A man who did not know the meaning of the word no.

What the heck did this guy think he was?

"Lost, buddy?" I yelled, arms crossed. "Or are you here to order a sandwich?"

He didn't answer. One of his goons stepped forward, depositing a plump envelope at my feet.

"What's this?"

"Official notice," the man said dryly.

I snatched it, tearing it open. Same legal garbage as yesterday—evidence of ownership, eviction order, demolition proposal.

"You're kidding me," I spat. "You're actually doing this?

Grayham finally spoke, his voice cold and curt. "I gave you twenty-four hours. You blew it. This building's mine. Get out… or be entombed with it."

The rage hit me like a train. "This isn't a building. It's home. My family's existence. You can't just erase that because you want to build your next glass castle."

He sneered. "I can. And I will."

My father wheeled himself out just then, his face white and trembling. "Miles… please."

"No, Dad!" I yelled. "He doesn't get to do this."

Grayham's cold glare was my response. "You have two hours," he said, spinning on his heel. "Get your shit together, or don't. I don't care."

He departed as quickly as he arrived, the wrecking crew lingering nearby like buzzards.

~~

I lingered there for quite some time, fists pressed into my face. The neighborhood had also materialized in whispering clusters, looking out windows, behind fences. Silence. They knew who he was. Knew what would happen if they got involved.

I wasn't like them.

I rushed back inside, I grabbed a chain, a padlock. I pulled an old folding chair to the front doors and I chained myself to the handles.

If he was going to own this building, he'd have to kill me too.

I opened again an hour later, and some of the stragglers drifted over but didn't come in, too afraid to make the attempt. I couldn't blame them.

But I wasn't afraid.

"This is our home!" I bellowed out onto the street. "Our house! We built this! And no goddamned rich son of a bitch is taking it from us!"

I saw people watching, some crying. But no one joined me. Fear was thick in the air.

Two hours later, just like he said, Grayham returned. Same cold face, same black suit, same truck rumbling behind him.

He stepped out, eyes locking with mine.

“Start demolition,” he said without breaking eye contact.

The crew hesitated.

“I said start.”

Engines roared.

I gritted my teeth, my heart hammering. I wasn’t moving.

Not this time.