Chương 6
“Tell me when he’s gone.”
“He has a key.”
“I know.”
“Don’t let him convince you this is about getting clothes.”
“I won’t.”
There was a pause.
Then she said, more gently, “You sound weird.”
“I feel weird.”
“Are you driving?”
“Yes.”
“Pull over if you start crying.”
“I’m not crying.”
“That wasn’t a challenge.”
Despite everything, I smiled.
It lasted less than a second.
“Mom called me.”
“She called me too.”
“What did David tell her?”
“No idea.”
“He’s probably already told everyone I lost my mind.”
“Mom knows you don’t lose your mind before noon.”
“Comforting.”
“Years of evidence.”
I heard a door open on her end.
Then a man’s voice.
Megan said, “Building manager.”
I slowed at a yellow light.
There were footsteps.
A low exchange.
David’s voice, sharper now.
“You can’t legally make me leave.”
Another voice answered.
“Sir, you are not a resident on the lease.”
“I have a key.”
“That does not make you a resident.”
“This is unbelievable.”
Megan whispered, “He’s turning red.”
“I don’t need commentary.”
“You absolutely need commentary.”
Then David said something too quietly for me to hear.
The manager responded, “You can coordinate retrieval of personal property with Ms. Carter.”
“My property is inside.”
“Then she can arrange access later.”
“I’m not some stranger.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You’re treating me like one.”
The manager’s voice remained almost boringly calm.
“I’m treating you as someone who is not on the lease and has been asked to leave.”
There was a long silence.
Then footsteps moved away.
Megan whispered, “He’s going.”
“Wait until he gets in the elevator.”
“You are extremely bossy under stress.”
“Please.”
“I’m watching.”
A chime sounded faintly.
“Elevator.”
“Doors closed?”
“Yes.”
I exhaled.
Only then did I notice how hard I had been gripping the wheel.
My fingers hurt.
“I’m ten minutes away.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t open the door for anyone.”
“Rachel, I’m thirty-four.”
“Humor me.”
“I’m currently standing behind two deadbolts because your former fiancé has gone feral over a checking account.”
“Not helping.”
“Sorry.”
She was quiet for a moment.
Then she said, “I brought bagels.”
That nearly made me cry again.
When I reached my building, the manager was still in the lobby.
His name was Mr. Alvarez, and I had spoken to him maybe four times in three years, usually about packages delivered to the wrong floor.
He wore reading glasses on a cord and held a clipboard against his chest.
“Ms. Carter.”
“Hi.”
He looked uncomfortable.
Not frightened.
Just aware he had stepped into something personal.
“Your sister explained part of the situation.”
“I’m sorry you got dragged into it.”
“It happens.”
I doubted it happened exactly like this.
“Can the locks be changed today?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll pay whatever fee.”
“There’s a standard rekey fee, but given what your sister told me, we can get maintenance up there now.”
“Thank you.”
He hesitated.
“Your fiancé said he has personal belongings in the unit.”
“Former fiancé.”
“Understood.”
“I’ll box everything.”
“Please don’t dispose of it.”
“I won’t.”
“If there’s disagreement over ownership, just keep the items separated.”
“That’s fine.”
He glanced at the white envelope in my hand but did not ask about it.
“Do you want us to deactivate his guest access code?”
I stared at him.
“His what?”
“The recurring code.”
“I never gave him a recurring code.”
Mr. Alvarez frowned.
“He has one assigned to your unit.”
The hallway seemed to tilt slightly.
“When was it created?”
“I’d need to check.”
“Please.”
He opened the tablet attached to his clipboard.
I waited while he scrolled.
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead.
A delivery driver entered carrying three pizza boxes and asked where unit 412 was.
Mr. Alvarez pointed toward the elevators without looking up.
Finally, his finger stopped.
“Created five weeks ago.”
“By whom?”
“The request came through the resident portal.”
“I didn’t request it.”
He looked at me.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
The question offended me for half a second before I remembered that from his perspective, I was simply a tenant denying an action performed through her own account.
“When was the request submitted?”
“March eighth at nine fourteen p.m.”
I knew exactly where I had been that night.
At David’s apartment.
Brenda had cooked pot roast.
I had left my laptop open on the coffee table while I helped David wash dishes.
My resident portal automatically saved the password.
“Can you print that record?”
“I can give you a copy of the access log.”
“Does it show when the code was used?”
“Yes.”
Mr. Alvarez tapped the screen again.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He looked at me, then back at the tablet.
“The code has been used eighteen times.”
I stopped breathing for a second.
“That can’t be right.”
“It shows eighteen entries.”
“David doesn’t come over that often without me.”
Mr. Alvarez turned the tablet so I could see.
Dates.
Times.
Entry records.
Some were ordinary.
Friday evenings.
Sunday afternoons.
Then I saw Tuesday at 1:12 p.m.
I had been at work.
Thursday at 10:44 a.m.
At work again.
The previous Monday at 2:06.
I had been in a quarterly staff meeting.
My mouth went dry.
“Can the system tell who used it?”
“No.”
“Camera footage?”
“Lobby footage is retained for thirty days.”
Five weeks.
Some entries would already be gone.
“How many of these are within thirty days?”
He counted.
“Twelve.”
“I need copies.”
He stiffened slightly.
“I can’t release surveillance footage directly without management approval or a legal request.”
The banker in me appreciated the answer even while the frightened woman in me hated it.
“Can you preserve it?”
“That I can request.”
“Please do.”
“I’ll flag the dates.”
Megan appeared from the elevator holding a paper bag.
She took one look at my face.
“What now?”
I showed her the access log.
Her expression hardened.
“Call the police.”
I shook my head.
“Not yet.”
“What do you mean, not yet?”
“I don’t know who used the code.”
“Come on.”
May you like
“I need facts.”
“Rachel, your almost-husband gave his mother a key, somebody created a secret building code, and she showed up at your bank pretending to act for you.”
