“He lied to me,” Nathaniel said, his voice barely audible.

“For twelve years, he has been pocketing the revenue from Brindlewood and letting it rot.”

“He told me the tenants were being taken care of under a private charitable trust.”

Ruby looked between us, her small forehead creased with worry as she sensed the tension.

“Mommy, is that the mean man who yells at the neighbors?” she asked.

“Yes, sweetie,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “But we are safe right now.”

Nathaniel looked down at his desk phone, then up at the security monitors on the wall.

The screens showed the lobby of Graves Tower.

I could see the glass doors, the marble floors, and a figure standing near the reception desk.

It was Arthur Dunleavy, wearing his heavy wool overcoat and carrying a scuffed leather briefcase.

Even through the security footage, his impatient, bullying posture was unmistakable.

He was tapping his leather-booted foot against the polished floor, checking his gold watch.

Nathaniel picked up the phone again and pressed a button on the console.

“Marcus,” he said to his security chief.