“Business is business,” Brenner muttered, though he took a half-step back toward the elevator.

The elevator doors opened again.

Paul Raskin stepped out, carrying a thick leather briefcase and a tablet.

His coat was dry, and his glasses were fogged from the Chicago cold.

“Ethan,” Paul said, adjusting his glasses as he walked toward us. “I have the digital filing ready.”

“Good,” Ethan said. “First, pay this man.”

Paul looked at Brenner, his analytical eyes taking in the dirty overcoat and the smell of stale tobacco.

“Name?” Paul asked, pulling a stylus from his pocket.

“Carl Brenner,” the landlord said, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of the lawyer. “Brenner Properties LLC.”

“Twelve thousand dollars,” Ethan said. “Pay him on the condition of a full release of all past, present, and future claims against Mary Grace Fitzgerald and her estate.”

Paul tapped his tablet rapidly, the stylus making small clicking sounds in the quiet hallway.

“I will also require a signed waiver stating you have no further claim to any personal property left in the apartment,” Paul said to Brenner.