“Not on paper, sir,” Ms. Vance said.

The elevator at the end of the hall chimed.

The heavy metal doors slid open.

A man stepped out into the bright light of the corridor.

He wore a dirty brown overcoat that smelled of stale tobacco.

His boots left wet, gray slush on the clean floor.

Carl Brenner smiled as he looked at us.

Brenner stopped a few feet away from us, his wet boots squeaking on the white linoleum.

He took a greasy leather wallet from his pocket and tapped it against his palm.

“I heard the news downstairs,” Brenner said, his eyes shifting from Ethan to me. “Shame about Mary. Truly.”

“Get out of here, Carl,” I said, my voice shaking as I stepped in front of the door where Lauren was waiting.

Brenner laughed, a dry, coughing sound that ended in a spit.

“I have a legal right to be here, lady,” Brenner said. “Mary died owing me four months of back rent, plus the fees for cleaning up her junk.”

Ethan did not move, but his shoulders went rigid under his wool coat.