The cold air rushed into the lobby as they pushed the door open.

“We got a call about a gas leak and a disturbance,” the first officer said, shaking the rain off his cap.

He was a tall man with a mustache and a brass name tag that read Miller.

The second officer, a younger woman, kept her hand resting near her utility belt.

“The gas is shut off,” Carl said, stepping forward. “I just closed the main valve in the basement.”

Officer Miller looked Carl up and down, noting his wet shirt and the soot on his forehead.

“Are you the superintendent?” the officer asked.

“I’m Carl Morrison,” Carl said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. “I own this building.”

Mrs. Patterson stepped closer, her wool coat smelling of cedar and old dust.

“He does,” she said to the officers. “He’s the real owner, no matter what those people say.”

The young female officer pulled out a small black notepad.

“Who are ‘those people’?” she asked.

“Mallerie and Jake,” I said, stepping up beside Carl. “They’ve been trying to force Carl out.”