In their place was a rendering of a luxury high-rise condominium complex.

“Dunleavy was working with an outside development group,” Marcus said.

“He was systematically clearing the building so it could be declared abandoned.”

“Once the city condemned it, his partners were going to buy the land for pennies.”

“The projected payout for Dunleavy was six million dollars.”

Charles Graves stared at the blueprint, his face turning pale.

“He used our name,” Charles muttered. “He used the Graves seal to sign those evictions.”

“He did,” Marcus confirmed.

“Every eviction notice carried a forged signature of the executive board.”

I felt a cold wave of anger wash over me.

I thought of Mrs. Gable, who had been forced to move into a shelter because of a fake lease violation.

I thought of the nights we shivered under three blankets because the boiler was supposedly broken.

All of it was for a six-million-dollar payout.

Arthur Dunleavy slowly raised his head.

The fear in his eyes had hardened into something ugly and desperate.

“You think you can just hand me over to the police?” Dunleavy sneered.