Chapter 17
Tuesday morning. Ten days left.
Ava had been staring at the same page of contract law for twenty minutes when her phone rang. The screen lit up with her mother’s photo: the one from last year’s Lunar New Year, her face flushed from cooking, laughing at something Dad had said.
She answered on the second ring. “Mom? What’s…”
“Bao Bei, there are men here.” Her mother’s voice was high, tight with panic. “Official men. They say there’s a gas leak, that we have to shut everything down. They’re making everyone leave: the lunch customers, the prep cooks, everyone.”
Ava was already standing, grabbing her jacket. Across the office, Victor’s attention snapped toward her like a compass finding north.
“Mom, slow down. What men? What agency?”
“I don’t know! They have badges and meters and they’re saying the readings are dangerous. Your father is arguing with them but they won’t listen. They’re going to shut off our gas. They’re going to close the restaurant.”
“Is there a gas smell? Anything?”
“Nothing! The kitchen smells like always: ginger and pork and the soup stock I started this morning. But they keep saying their machines show a leak.”
Lilith. It had to be.
“Mom, listen to me carefully. Don’t sign anything. Don’t agree to anything. Just stall them. I’m coming.”
“How can I stall? They’re from the city…”
“Ask for credentials. Every single one. Make them show you the specific readings. Ask what kind of leak, where it’s coming from, why you can’t smell it. Just keep asking questions until I get there.”
“Ava, I’m scared.”
The words stopped her cold. Her mother didn’t say things like that. Her mother had immigrated with nothing, built a business from scratch, worked eighteen-hour days for thirty years. Her mother didn’t get scared.
“I know, Mom. I’m coming. Twenty minutes.”
She hung up and turned to find Victor already on his feet, jacket in hand.
“Lilith?” he asked.
“Has to be. Fake gas leak inspection. They’re trying to force a shutdown.”
Victor’s expression darkened. “If they stop serving food…”
“I know.”
They were moving toward the elevator when Derek came sprinting around the corner, laptop clutched to his chest, tie flapping behind him.
“Wait! Wait wait wait.” He skidded to a stop in front of them, breathing hard. “I found something. You need to see this before you go.”
“Derek, my parents…”
“I know, I heard. But this is important.” He was already opening the laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard. “I’ve been researching old property laws. Like, really old. Pre-modern property laws that might still be on the books. And I found something called hearth rights.”
Victor stopped walking. “That’s a myth.”
“That’s what I thought.” Derek turned the screen to face them.
“But look: three documented cases in the last thousand years. All successful. If a building has been used for the same purpose continuously, and if a blood ritual is performed by three generations of the same family, it becomes protected. Sacred ground.”
“Protected how?” Ava asked.
“The building can’t be seized. Can’t be taken through legal action, demonic or otherwise. The contracts become void—not cancelled, void. Like they never existed.”
Ava grabbed the laptop, scanning the text. Ancient legalese mixed with what looked like Sumerian. “This would save my parents?”
“If we can invoke it before Lilith forces a shutdown.” Derek’s expression was grim. “There’s a catch. The continuous use can’t be broken. If those stoves go cold, if the restaurant stops serving food even for a single day, the protection can never be established. The window closes permanently.”
“That’s why she’s attacking now.” Victor’s voice was tight. “She knows about the hearth rights. She’s trying to break the chain before we can invoke it.”
“So we need to stop the shutdown and perform a ritual.” Ava handed the laptop back to Derek. “At the same time.”
“I can walk you through the ritual over the phone.” Derek was already pulling up another screen. “It’s not complicated: blood from three generations, spoken words, application to the primary threshold. But Victor needs to get the actual text. It’s in the archives. Level B13.”
“I have access.” Victor turned to Ava. “You go to the restaurant. Stall the inspectors. I’ll get the ritual and meet you there.”
“How long?”
“Thirty minutes. Maybe less.”
“My mother’s been dealing with them for almost ten already.”
“Then you’ll have to buy me time.” He touched her face, brief and fierce. “You’re a lawyer. Make them follow their own rules.”
The parking lot of the strip mall was chaos.
Two white vans with CITY OF NEW YORK emblazoned on the sides.
A fire truck, lights still flashing. Yellow caution tape stretched across the entrance to Feng’s Kitchen.
A small crowd of onlookers had gathered: customers who’d been evacuated mid-meal, curious employees from neighboring businesses, a woman from the nail salon still wearing her smock.
Through the window, Ava could see her mother arguing with someone in a reflective vest. Her father stood behind the counter, arms crossed, face thunderous.
She pushed through the crowd and ducked under the caution tape.
“Ma’am, you can’t…” A young inspector tried to stop her.
“I’m their attorney.” She flashed her bar card without slowing down. “And their daughter. Where’s your supervisor?”
The kitchen was full of people who didn’t belong there. Inspectors with handheld meters. Someone in a hazmat suit, theatrical overkill for a supposed gas leak. Her mother’s carefully organized prep stations had been disrupted, ingredients pushed aside to make room for equipment.
“You must be the lawyer.” A man in his fifties approached, clipboard in hand. His name tag read HENDRICKS. “We’ve explained the situation to your parents.”
“Explain it to me. Specifically.” Ava pulled out her phone and started recording. “For the lawsuit.”
Hendricks’ smile flickered. “I’m sorry?”
“The lawsuit I’ll be filing if this inspection isn’t by the book. Harassment, loss of business, emotional distress.” She kept her voice pleasant, professional. “Now, what exactly are your readings showing?”
“Our meters indicate elevated levels of…”
“Show me.” She held out her hand. “The actual readings. On the actual meter. Right now.”
The inspector holding the device glanced at Hendricks uncertainly.
“It’s proprietary equipment…”
“It’s publicly funded equipment used in a public capacity. Show me the readings, show me your calibration certificates, show me the specific regulation you’re citing, and show me your warrant or written authorization to search a private business.”
“We don’t need a warrant for safety…”
“Section 28-103.4 of the New York City Administrative Code.” Ava pulled the citation from memory, thank God for property law courses.
“Emergency inspections require either imminent visible danger or written authorization from the Department of Buildings. You have neither. This is a restaurant that’s been in continuous operation for thirty years with a perfect safety record.
There’s no visible damage, no smell of gas, no customer complaints. ”
Her mother had stopped arguing. Was watching her daughter with something like awe.
“We received a tip…” Hendricks started.
“From whom? Through what channel? Was it verified before you dispatched a full team and a fire truck?” Ava stepped closer.
“Because from where I’m standing, this looks like a coordinated harassment campaign against a family business.
And when I find out who authorized this, and I will, I’m going to make sure the city’s liability is front-page news. ”
Hendricks’ jaw worked. The other inspectors had gone quiet.
“Now,” Ava continued, “you can continue this inspection, properly, by the book, with documentation of every reading and every regulation you’re citing.
Or you can leave and come back when you have actual evidence of an actual problem.
But you’re not shutting anything down today.
Not without a fight you really don’t want. ”
“These readings…”
“Are jumping all over the place, aren’t they?
” She’d noticed one of the inspectors frowning at his device, tapping it like it was malfunctioning.
“Almost like there’s interference. Or like someone calibrated them wrong.
Or like they’re picking up something other than gas: cleaning supplies, maybe?
Paint fumes from the renovation next door? ”
The inspector with the misbehaving meter looked at Hendricks. “She’s right. These readings don’t make sense. They’re spiking near the walls but not the stove lines.”
“Equipment malfunction,” another inspector muttered.
Hendricks looked like he wanted to argue. But Ava had her phone recording, her bar card visible, and twenty years of immigrants’ distrust of authority radiating from her parents behind the counter.
“Fine.” He made a note on his clipboard. “We’ll need to recalibrate and return.”
“With proper documentation. And advance notice. And an actual warrant if you want to shut anything down.” Ava smiled pleasantly. “I’ll be happy to provide my contact information for your legal department.”
Her phone buzzed. Victor: Two minutes out. Back entrance.
“Mom, Dad, I need to check something in the back. Keep them busy.”
Her father nodded once, then turned to Hendricks. “Now. You show me this regulation you talk about. Every word. I want to understand exactly.”
The back entrance opened onto a narrow alley that smelled like dumpsters and old cooking oil. Victor’s Tesla was parked at the far end, and he was already walking toward her carrying a leather messenger bag.
“Did you get it?” she asked.
“The ritual text. A silver knife; it has to be silver.” He handed her the bag. “How long do we have?”
“They’re leaving. ‘Equipment malfunction.’ But they’ll be back, and Lilith won’t make the same mistake twice.”
“Then we do this now.”