“It’s okay, sweetie,” I said, brushing a wet strand of hair from her forehead.

“Just stay close to me.”

The second police officer took a step forward, his leather utility belt creaking in the quiet lobby.

Water dripped from the brim of his hat, pooling on the polished floor.

“Mr. Graves, do you want this man removed from the premises?” the officer asked.

“Not yet, Officer,” Nathaniel said.

“He has something he wants to show us.”

Dunleavy laughed, but the sound was wet and frantic.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, boy,” Dunleavy said to Nathaniel.

“I have twelve years of proof that your family knew about the structural issues.”

“I have the emails where your legal team advised you to ignore the tenant complaints.”

“I have the photos of the black mold in basement apartment 4B.”

My breath caught in my throat.

Apartment 4B was our home.

It was where Ruby coughed every winter night while the radiator rattled and blew cold air.

It was where the walls felt damp to the touch even in the heat of August.