Nathaniel slowly turned around, his eyes locking onto mine with a cold, hard resolve.

He walked back to the desk and reached for the receiver.

“Tell him to wait in the lobby,” Nathaniel said into the phone, his voice flat.

He didn’t hang up immediately.

He kept his hand on the receiver, his knuckles white against the black plastic.

He looked at me, his brow furrowed in a way that made him look suddenly older.

“Why did you look like you had seen a ghost when his name was mentioned, Claire?” he asked.

I squeezed Ruby’s hand, then let go so she wouldn’t feel the sudden, icy sweat on my palms.

“Arthur Dunleavy is the reason we live in a drafty, crumbling apartment,” I said.

“He is the property manager of Brindlewood.”

Nathaniel stared at me, his hand resting on the polished mahogany of his desk.

“That is impossible,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Arthur told me twelve years ago that Brindlewood was sold to an independent holding company.”

“He told me my mother’s estate had been fully liquidated to pay off her outstanding debts.”