Chapter 14 - THE HOUSE WITHOUT A BASEMENT
Anna was fourteen months old when I bought a small house in Evanston.
Before making an offer, I toured it twice.
The realtor proudly showed me renovated bathrooms.
New electrical.
A sunny kitchen.
Then opened a door.
“Full basement.”
My body reacted before my mind did.
Heart racing.
Hands cold.
The smell of concrete seemed to pull me backward in time.
I walked outside.
The realtor followed.
“We can look at another property.”
“No.”
I stared at the house.
“I like this one.”
My therapist later asked why I chose it.
“Because I don’t want architecture making decisions for me.”
I bought the house.
For the first month, the basement light stayed on twenty-four hours a day.
Then twelve.
Then only when I went downstairs.
Grace helped me paint the walls pale yellow.
Anna crawled across a folded blanket while we worked.
I turned part of the room into document storage for my new business.
Ellison Forensic Controls.
I had left Holt Industrial permanently.
My consulting practice helped closely held companies build internal controls strong enough that one family could not quietly become the accounting department, board, bank, and police force at the same time.
Clients sometimes asked why I specialized in family businesses.
I usually said:
“Experience.”
That was enough.
The yellow baby sock stayed framed above my desk.
May you like
Not because I wanted the basement to remain the center of my life.
Because evidence deserved some respect.
