“He said everything was already arranged,” Sloane said, staring at the screen as it lit up.

She looked at me, her eyes wide with a sudden, desperate realization.

“He told me the board had already approved the lease transfer,” Sloane whispered.

She held the phone out, her arm shaking so violently the screen was a blur of light.

Mr. Vance, the president of the co-op board, stepped forward from the shadows of the hallway.

He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, his face set in a hard, uncompromising line.

“The board has never received any such application, Miss Vale,” Mr. Vance said.

Mrs. Gable, the board’s treasurer, stood beside him, her arms crossed over her Chanel jacket.

“And if we had, it would have been rejected instantly,” Mrs. Gable said.

“Our bylaws strictly prohibit subletting to non-family members under the Crane trust,” Mrs. Gable added.

Sloane’s hand dropped to her side.

The phone remained clutched in her fingers, the screen still glowing against her dark trousers.

“But he showed me the papers,” Sloane said, her voice rising to a frantic pitch.

“He showed me your signature, Mr. Vance,” she said.