"How many residents?" Altha asked. Miriam consulted a spreadsheet. "Four hundred thirty-seven in the buildings marked for clearance," she answered.
"Some tenants have been there more than twenty years. The emergency shelter serves additional families whose numbers change every week. The proposal allows sixty days to relocate, with vouchers equivalent to three months of their existing rent."
Elias stared at the projected redevelopment costs and calculated what those vouchers might cover in Atlanta's current market. In some neighborhoods, the payments would barely pay a deposit and a moving truck. Elderly residents on fixed incomes would have to choose between leaving the city they knew and fighting a developer with lawyers on retainer. Families with children would be forced to consider changing schools in the middle of a term.
"Those buildings weren't acquired as investment properties," Altha said slowly. "We bought them to keep people from being thrown away when they became inconvenient. A person who has lost a job or a spouse doesn't stop deserving a home." She put one finger against the map. "Charles promised that those addresses would remain under community protection. His son is trying to turn that promise into an empty piece of paper."
Miriam explained that the hotel board had been told the sale was necessary to modernize the company. Preston had circulated projections claiming the community properties were a financial burden and that redevelopment would free capital for international expansion. He left out revenue from the hotel, tax advantages associated with the housing programs, and years of restricted donations received specifically to support vulnerable residents. Board members who asked questions were given glossy summaries rather than ledgers.
The sale timetable was accelerating. Preston had moved a board meeting to Friday, scheduled an investor gala for that evening, and arranged for final signatures on Saturday afternoon. He wanted the commitments completed before anyone could challenge the transfer terms. Once the contracts closed and demolition schedules were announced, lawyers would be forced to chase the proceeds through corporate structures designed to make recovery slow and expensive.
"He was very specific about the timing," Miriam said. "He told everyone that after Saturday, the old properties would no longer be the hotel's responsibility." She took a breath. "He said the company could finally stop carrying people who weren't paying enough to justify the space they used. I have worked alongside those residents and the people who help them. They're not numbers on a page."
Her voice broke when she mentioned an eighty-two-year-old tenant named Evelyn Patterson. Evelyn had been displaced by a fire years earlier and had rebuilt her life in one of the senior apartments. She liked to sit beside a window with a newspaper and had been saving for a trip to visit a sister she had not seen in a decade. Miriam had helped her apply for medication assistance and knew that Evelyn could not safely navigate another move without help.