Chapter 21

“You went to his home?” Isaac held one of the journals in his hand. “What if Liam was a rapist? A murderer?”

“I got the journals. That’s what’s important.”

They sat on the floor of Isaac’s living room, surrounded by papers. It had been a couple of days since she had found the journals, but Isaac had been on the East Coast for work, making this their first chance to meet.

He flipped through the now yellowed pages. “Is there anything in here you can use?”

“The Raven Room is the legacy of the Everleigh Club, a famous Chicago gentlemen’s club owned and operated by the Everleigh sisters, Minna and Ada, that existed from around 1900 to 1911. Have you heard of it?”

“It was a brothel, right?”

“Yeah. Apparently Tribune reporters were among the clients.”

Isaac smirked. “I need to do a better job of enjoying my down time.”

“The Everleigh was extremely luxurious and selective,” Meredith continued. “I did some research on it and I read it’s considered the only brothel in American history that enhanced, rather than diminished, a man’s reputation. It closed because of prostitution reform but the men who frequented were spending between two hundred to a thousand dollars per visit. Do you have an idea of how much money that was in the nineteen hundreds?” Meredith asked. “According to Glendon’s notes, one of the Everleigh’s butterflies, which was the name they used for the club’s prostitutes, knew that even though the prostitution reform might have led to the closure of Everleigh, the demand was still there. Mary Tang, an immigrant from China, had worked at the Everleigh Club for years and learned the business from the sisters. Knowing she couldn’t run a brothel out in the open, she took everything underground and founded her own club—The Raven Room.”

“The club has been around since then?”

“Looks like it. She managed to secure most of the Everleigh’s powerful clientele, and because The Raven Room always existed outside of the law, it’s been part of every kind of activity organized crime can profit from: bootlegging during Prohibition, labor and gang racketeering, gambling during the Depression.” Meredith reached for one of the other journals. “And now drug trafficking. The Raven Room keeps adapting and evolving. It’s what organized crime does. It never disappears.”

“So who owns it?”

“That’s the section I’m looking for,” Meredith replied, her eyes on the journal. “Glendon wrote that the club is managed by an organization,” she tapped the page with her finger and showed it to Isaac. “The Wusun. I researched the word and it literally means grandchildren or descendants of the raven. It’s not clear if they just manage the club, or if they own it, too. But I thought, how about the building, right?” Meredith said, with a hint of excitement in her voice. “The Raven Room occupies four levels below ground but there’s a restaurant that operates above ground. Someone owns the building and I’m trying to find out who they are.”

Isaac gave Meredith a pensive stare. “This is a lot to wrap your head around.”

“Oh, but there’s more. Here,” she passed him a newspaper clipping that had been inside of one of the journals. “A Tribune article written by a reporter named Miles Leonard in 1964. It says that Michael Belfer, the son of David Belfer, who was the owner of South Works, mentioned at a party that he and his father were members of an underground club that controlled Chicago.” She passed him another newspaper clipping. “That’s Miles Leonard’s obituary. He died in a car crash a week after the article was published.”

“Damn, these people don’t fuck around.”

“It gets scarier.” She showed him another newspaper clipping. “The same day Miles Leonard died, a large fire broke out at the Emperor Hotel in Chinatown. It burned to the ground. Glendon believed it was the location of The Raven Room at the time. Either someone found out and tried to destroy the club, which I find unlikely, or the people who managed it decided it was safer to relocate and not leave anything behind.”

“Well, I guess Miles didn’t die in vain. At least he inconvenienced the motherfuckers. So where is the club now?”

“Still in Chinatown,” Meredith replied, her attention on two folded pieces of paper. “I found these in one of the journals. It’s a couple of police reports from about ten years ago. Drug busts. One makes note that the dealer was under the influence of a designer drug at the time of his arrest—its street name Dali. He kept saying Dali had come from the Wusun.”

“What else you got in there?”

“There are ten pages of rules the members have to abide by. A lot of these have question marks and side notes, so I don’t think Glendon was completely certain of their accuracy.” Meredith’s eyes scanned through the beginning of the list. “Amongst the members, the membership is called a key, so instead of members they are keyholders. There are two different types of keys, a 78 key and a 22 key. The first one gives you access to this area.” Meredith showed him a drawing of the layout of the club in one of the pages. “The top three floors. A 22 key gives you access to all of those floors, plus this area.” She pointed to the lower area of the drawing. “The Raven Room.”

“Keyholders are allowed guests, right? You’ve gone to the club.”

“Yes, but guests are not allowed on the lowest level.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“To create further exclusivity within an already exclusive crowd? To charge more money?” Meredith recalled what Tatiana had told her when they had visited the club together. “Maybe they offer a selection of unusual sex services to the ones with a 22 key?” She leafed through the journal. “Glendon wrote that the club hires sex workers, both male and female. The women who died must have worked at the club.”

“When you were there, did you ever meet anyone who you knew, or suspected, to be a sex worker?”

Meredith shook her head. “No. Perhaps if I spent some time watching everyone closely I would have. Even then, I’m not sure I could tell who is a member and who is a sex worker. It would be great if I managed to speak with one of them for the piece.”

“What are these letters?” Isaac asked, his finger moving across the page. “They look like abbreviations.”

“Each room at the club has a name. All animals.” She circled the letters BD beside the top floor. “It stands for The Black Dragon.” She circled the letters RR at the opposite end of the drawing. “The Raven Room.”

“How does one get a membership to the club? Does Glendon mention that in the journals?”

“For a 78 key you need to be invited by three members. Then vetted by the Wusun. For a 22 key, he mentions that there’s a different process but there are no details.”

Isaac seemed to be lost in thought.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked.

“As much as I want to publish your article, everything I’ve just heard makes me think it’s a really bad idea.”

“I told you it was dangerous. I told you people died.”

“A crime organization over a century old runs The Raven Room. Powerful people are committed to protecting it. The police won’t go near it. Don’t you think this goes beyond what we both thought?”

“You believed it was only vulnerable women who’d been murdered. Now that you know Miles Leonard and Glendon might have also been killed, you’re hesitating.”

“Aren’t you wondering how Glendon got all that information?” Isaac asked. “It’s detailed. Someone knew what he was up to. And what made him look into The Raven Room in the first place?”

“I have a theory. When I spoke to Glendon’s son, Liam, he told me about his sister, Rebecca, who went missing when she was eighteen. She’d been on and off the streets, working as a prostitute, using drugs. It’s possible she got involved with the club. Glendon started to look into what might have happened to his daughter and somehow learned about the existence of The Raven Room. He was doing research, possibly to expose them.”

“Do you believe he committed suicide?”

“I don’t know…I’m starting to think this organization is capable of anything.”

“Fuck.” Isaac stood up and paced back and forth. “Who else, besides your professor and I, knows you’re writing this piece?”

“My stepmother.”

“I’m more worried about your professor. Call her right now and tell her not to mention your piece or The Raven Room to anyone. Tell her that if she does, her kids could get hurt.”

“Have you lost your mind, Isaac? I can’t tell her that. And if she did mention—”

“If you don’t call her, I will, Meredith.”

“It’s Saturday. She’s not in the office and this is not exactly the type of stuff you tell someone over voicemail. I’ll speak to her on Monday. She’s known about the piece for months. One more day won’t make a difference.”

“You and I will speak to her, together.”

“I told you I would do it,” Meredith said, raising her voice.

“Your stepmother.”

“What about her?”

“Can you trust her?”

Meredith didn’t reply.

“Can you trust her?” Isaac pressed.

She met his eyes and his expression changed. “Your own family would put you in danger?” he asked.

“You’re worried they’re going to put you in danger.”

“It’s your name on the piece, not mine.”

“Exactly. And I’m going ahead with it. If you won’t publish it, someone else will. What’s it going to be?” She hoped what Isaac lacked in courage he made up in ambition.

He continued to pace in agitated contemplation. Eventually he came to sit beside her.

“I still want the finished article by next month, Meredith.”

“Remind me to threaten you more often. You show how smart you really are.”

She didn’t mean it as a compliment and he knew it.