He reached for his radio and spoke into it in a low, urgent murmur.

“Wait here,” he told us.

We stood near the glass doors, looking completely out of place among the businessmen in tailored coats.

Five minutes later, a private elevator at the back of the lobby chimed.

The doors slid open, and Nathaniel Graves stepped out.

He was taller than he looked in his license photo.

He wore a charcoal wool suit that fit him perfectly, and his dark hair was silver at the temples.

He walked toward us with long, purposeful strides.

As he stopped in front of us, his gray eyes locked onto mine.

For a fraction of a second, his stride faltered.

A look of intense confusion passed over his face, replaced quickly by a cool, professional mask.

“You found my wallet?” he asked.

His voice was a deep, quiet baritone that seemed to vibrate in the quiet lobby.

“Yes, sir,” Ruby said, stepping forward. “It was in the dirt by the road.”

She handed it to him.

He took it, his fingers brushing hers. “Thank you, young lady.”

I pulled my hands out of my coat pockets, searching for my gloves to prepare us for the cold walk back.

As I did, the folded pink eviction notice slipped out of my pocket.

It drifted through the air and landed right at his feet.

The bright pink paper was impossible to ignore against the pristine white floor.

Nathaniel looked down at it.

He bent over, picked it up, and unfolded it.

I watched his eyes trace the bold black letters at the top: *NOTICE TO VACATE.*

Then his gaze moved to the address of the property: *Brindlewood Apartments, Unit 4B.*

His jaw tightened, a muscle leaping in his cheek.

He looked up from the paper, his gray eyes suddenly blazing with an intensity that made me step back.