It was even hotter outside. She trudged past Mrs. Capretta’s rocking chair without even looking up.

“Well, how do you like that? People don’t even say hello to their neighbors anymore. I expected it from the Orientals upstairs, but not from you, Iris.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Capretta. How are you today?” Iris sighed, avoiding eye contact.

“Better than you from the looks of it . . . What’s the matter? Boy trouble?” Mrs. Capretta rocked in her chair in her moth-eaten housecoat.

“Sort of.”

“You career girls got your heads all screwed up. In my day we knew how to keep a man. You want my advice?”

Not really.

“Learn to cook, and keep your legs shut! That’s how you land a husband.”

Iris rolled her eyes.

“You think you’re too good for marriage? Sure, you say that now when you’re twenty-three. Just wait till you’re thirty-three, then forty-three. Come talk to me about how great your career is then. Ha!”

“Okay. Thanks.” That was just the pep talk she needed, she thought wryly.

Mrs. Capretta squawked after her, “That’s what happened to my Betsy, you know. Wasted all her good chances, and now she’s alone . . .”

That settled it. Iris was moving. She clomped down the street to Calabria’s, her favorite coffee shop. She grabbed copies of the Free Times and Around Town Magazine, along with her coffee, and found an air-conditioned corner. Her eyes skimmed the east-side rentals, until she compulsively began reading the listings for Tremont, where Nick lived. He had just bought a condo near Lincoln Park and had been flashing pictures around the office for weeks. It wouldn’t exactly make her a stalker if she found a place nearby.

She rolled up the papers with a sigh. Maybe Mrs. Capretta was right. She should have kept her legs shut. As she munched her bagel, the cover of Around Town caught her eye. She unrolled the paper and read, “Dennis! And the Default of 1978 . . .” It was the year that made her stop and unfold the paper. First Bank of Cleveland closed around that time. Iris had seen the “Dennis!” yard signs all over town. There was an election coming up in the fall.

From the story lead-in, Congressman Kucinich was running against a Republican intent on dredging up the incumbent’s sordid past. According to the article, Dennis Kucinich had been mayor of Cleveland at the ripe age of thirty-two, when the city defaulted on several bank loans. It was a low point in the history of the city, right up there with the burning of the Cuyahoga River. Cleveland was the laughingstock of the country and the poster child for Rust Belt decay. A once-great metropolis became “the mistake on the lake.” She’d heard pieces of the story before, but she had never really understood the details. She kept reading.

The city had run up a huge debt as politicians promised “no new taxes” while increasing their budget spending. The city’s debt was financed by loans from several local banks because its bond rating was so low. The article listed the financiers, and Iris’s eyes widened when she read that First Bank of Cleveland was the largest local bondholder of the city’s debt.

Kucinich’s administration of young-gun advisers had alienated the old business establishment by refusing to let them privatize the electric utilities. On December 15, 1978, when the bonds came due, the local banks refused to work with the mayor’s office to renegotiate the terms. First Bank of Cleveland was one of six banks to refuse to roll over the debt. The bank’s board of directors were the most influential businessmen in Cleveland. The elite aristocracy included Theodore Halloran, Samuel Wackerly, Alistair Mercer, and many more, the story read.

Images of the portraits hanging in the library of the old bank loomed in Iris’s mind. She’d seen at least twelve old white men glowering at the books. She scoured the article for more information on the bank and its board of directors and found none. The story went on to describe Kucinich’s voting record in Congress. His opponent, James Stone, reportedly claimed that the ex-mayor’s failure to the City of Cleveland spelled failure for the country if Dennis was to be reelected. Iris folded the paper and stuffed it into her purse.

She walked home in the heat of the day. There had to be more to the bank closure than business as usual. The abandoned files, the full desks, the dead plants—it all looked like evidence at a crime scene. Besides, why would a perfectly good fifteen-story building just sit frozen in time for twenty years? She’d seen abandoned buildings in downtown Cleveland before. She drove past them every day. They were shuttered and gutted, picked clean of anything valuable. Looking through their broken windows, she could see there was nothing left. Why was 1010 Euclid Avenue a perfectly preserved time capsule with an armed guard? Her thoughts kept returning to the vault.

She pushed through the door of her sweltering apartment and saw the light on her answering machine blinking. She threw her purse in the corner and ran to the little black box of hope. Maybe Nick had decided she was worth a phone call. But it was her mother. Again.

“Iris? Iris, I’m starting to get worried. You need to call home.”

“Okay, okay.” It had been a few days longer than she intended. She picked up the phone and dialed home without even looking at the keypad. The phone number hadn’t changed in twenty-three years. “Hi, Mom.”

“Iris! Well, it’s about time you called. I’ve been worried! Are you all right?”

“I’m sorry, Mom.” She hadn’t meant to worry the poor woman. “I’ve just been really busy with work.”

“Well, you could have called to let me know. I am still your mother even if you are all grown up now.” Her mother sighed on the other end of the line. “So. How’s the new assignment going? Are you liking it?”

“Yeah! I’m working in the field now on this old building. It’s fascinating! The head of the company, Mr. Wheeler, chose me out of everyone to take the lead on the survey.” Iris found herself bragging even though she suspected Mr. Wheeler had only picked her because she was the cheapest employee.

“Oh, honey! That’s wonderful! I’m so glad you’re having a good time.”

Iris smiled. “How’s Dad?”

“Hmm? Oh, he’s fine.” She paused. “I think he’s making the adjustment just fine.”

“Adjustment?”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? His company just went through a downsizing. You know they’re doing it everywhere. He’ll be just fine, don’t you worry. He’s really enjoying having more time to work out in the shed.”

Her dad had been fired. Her mother straining to be sunny and bright about it just made it seem worse. “Mom! When did this happen?”

“Last week.”

“Is he all right?” Iris asked, even though she knew she wouldn’t get a straight answer.

“He’s doing great! He was really tired of the job, you know. He’d gone as far as he could. Now it’s on to the next thing.” Her enthusiasm was grating Iris’s nerves.

“Can I talk to him?”

“Not now, honey, he’s sleeping. Do you want me to have him call you?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Mom.” She knew her father would never call her. He hated talking on the phone, or at least that’s what he said the one time Iris had risked complaining about it. She tried not to take it personally, and to take the rejection like a man or someone her father might respect. “Well, I’ve got to go.”

“Whatcha gonna do today?” Every phone call had to end on a positive note.

“I have to go find a new apartment.”

“Oh, that’s exciting! I can’t wait to see it. Let me know if you want me to come down and help you move in.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Mom.”

“I love you!”

“I love you too . . . Mom?”

“Yes, honey?”

Iris paused as a foreign emotion overwhelmed her—she was feeling protective of her parents. She didn’t know if they had any savings. She didn’t know if her father had a severance package. As a rule, her parents never discussed money. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”