“This is a monthly transfer of fifty thousand dollars,” he said. “It went directly from the Graves Foundation to Dunleavy Management.”

My eyes scanned the numbers, my mind struggling to comprehend the scale of it.

“Fifty thousand?” I whispered. “Every month?”

“Yes,” Nathaniel said, his face pale. “Specifically earmarked for the maintenance, heating, and structural upkeep of Brindlewood Apartments.”

He turned the page, showing more transfers, some even larger.

“Here is a special allocation of three hundred thousand dollars for a complete boiler replacement five years ago,” he pointed.

I felt a cold sweat break out on my neck.

“We didn’t get a new boiler five years ago,” I said, my voice cracking. “We went without heat for three weeks that winter. My radiator has leaked rust onto the floor every day since we moved in.”

“I know,” Nathaniel said, his eyes filled with a deep, haunting regret. “I am seeing that now.”

He turned another page, showing the total accumulated figures over the last decade.

The final number at the bottom of the page was staggering.

Over six million dollars had been sent to Arthur Dunleavy’s company for our building alone.