PART 4
The dispatcher was still speaking when I heard three hard knocks on our apartment door.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Liam grabbed my arm.
“Mom.”
I put my finger to my lips.
The dispatcher asked, “Ma’am, are you still there?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “Someone is at my door.”
“Do not open it. Officers are being dispatched.”
I moved Liam behind me.
Another knock came.
This time, a man’s voice followed.
“Chloe? It’s Mr. Harris from management.”
My stomach twisted.
Our landlord.
I looked at the tiny camera in my hand.
Then I looked at the door.
“How does he know I’m home?” Liam whispered.
I didn’t answer.
Because I knew.
Someone had been watching us.
I lowered my voice into the phone.
“He’s here.”
The dispatcher told me to stay away from the door.
I stepped backward.
“Mr. Harris,” I called.
“Yes?”
“What do you want?”
A pause.
Then:
“I received a report that someone unauthorized was staying in your apartment last night.”
My blood ran cold.
“How would you know that?”
Another pause.
“I have a maintenance concern.”
“I didn’t request maintenance.”
“I need to inspect the unit.”
“No.”
His tone changed.
“Chloe, don’t make this difficult.”
I stared at the door.
That sentence was something I had heard from him before.
Every time I complained about the broken heater.
Every time I asked about the leaking ceiling.
Every time I mentioned the rent increase.
Don’t make this difficult.
I suddenly understood why Marcus had asked about unauthorized entry.
He had noticed something.
Something I hadn’t.
“I’m not opening the door,” I said.
The hallway went silent.
Then Mr. Harris spoke again.
“You should think carefully about that.”
I felt Liam’s fingers tighten around mine.
The dispatcher heard him.
“Ma’am, officers are on their way. Stay inside and do not engage.”
I whispered, “Okay.”
For nearly a minute, there was no sound.
Then footsteps moved away.
I waited.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Twenty.
Nothing.
Finally, I heard the elevator doors open.
Then close.
I let out the breath I’d been holding.
Liam looked up at me.
“Is he bad?”
I didn’t know how to answer.
“I don’t know.”
“But Marcus knew.”
“Yes.”
“Then we need to find him.”
I looked down at the camera in my hand.
Maybe he was right.
But finding Marcus wasn’t going to be easy.
We didn’t have his phone number.
We didn’t know where he slept.
We didn’t even know his last name.
All I had was a first name and a memory of a tired man sitting outside a grocery store.
Then I remembered the duffel bag.
There had been a small patch sewn onto the side.
A company logo.
I had seen it the night before but hadn’t paid attention.
I rushed to the kitchen and grabbed my phone.
I searched the name.
Nothing.
Then I remembered something else.
The work accident.
Marcus had said it happened at work.
“What kind of job?” I whispered to myself.
Liam suddenly said,
“He told me.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Last night. When you were washing the dishes.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he used to fix elevators.”
My heart skipped.
“Elevators?”
Liam nodded.
“He said they used to call him when elevators stopped working.”
I searched Chicago elevator repair companies.
There were dozens.
But one logo stood out.
A blue circle with a silver line through the middle.
Exactly like the patch on Marcus’s duffel bag.
Northstar Vertical Systems.
I clicked the company website.
The business had been operating for twenty-two years.
Commercial elevators.
Hospital equipment lifts.
Industrial platforms.
Emergency repairs.
Then I saw a section titled:
Safety Investigation — 18 Months Ago
My pulse quickened.
I opened it.
There was a photograph.
A damaged elevator shaft.
And underneath it:
Employee Injury Lawsuit Following Mechanical Failure
I scrolled.
Then froze.
There he was.
Marcus Reed.
Thirty-nine years old.
Senior field technician.
The article said Marcus had been inspecting an elevator at a downtown hotel when a safety mechanism failed.
He fell nearly twenty feet.
He survived.
But the injuries ended his career.
The company claimed the accident was caused by technician negligence.
Marcus had disputed that claim.
The case was still unresolved.
I stared at the screen.
“Mom?”
I couldn’t speak.
Then I noticed something else.
The accident report listed one of the investigators.
Daniel Harris.
My hands began shaking.
I looked at Liam.
“That’s our landlord.”
The room suddenly felt too small.
Mr. Harris wasn’t just some landlord who wanted to inspect our apartment.
He had a connection to Marcus.
A very serious one.
I called the police again and gave them everything I had found.
Twenty minutes later, two officers arrived.
They inspected the camera.
They photographed the door.
They spoke to me separately.
One of them asked,
“Did you invite the man into your home?”
“Yes.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“No.”
“Did he damage anything?”
“No.”
“Then why do you believe he is involved?”
I showed them the accident report.
The officer read it carefully.
His expression changed.
“You’re saying your landlord was connected to this accident?”
“According to this report.”
He looked at his partner.
“Interesting.”
They searched the apartment.
Then one officer crouched behind the refrigerator.
He examined the wall.
“There’s another device.”
I felt sick.
Another camera.
This one was wired into the electrical outlet.
The officer carefully removed it.
“Whoever installed these knew what they were doing.”
I thought about Marcus.
Then the officer asked,
“Did your guest mention anything about your landlord?”
“Only that I should be careful.”
“Did he say why?”
“No.”
The officer stood.
“Until we know more, don’t let your landlord inside.”
I nodded.
After they left, Liam and I sat on the couch.
Neither of us touched the soup.
Neither of us spoke.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I stared at it.
A text appeared.
You need to leave the apartment tonight.
I looked at Liam.
Another message arrived.
Don’t call the police again.
My hands went numb.
Then a third.
Your son is not safe there.
I stood up so quickly that Liam jumped.
“Mom?”
I didn’t answer.
I called the number.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then went to voicemail.
A man’s voice came through.
Quiet.
Breathing heavily.
Then:
“Chloe.”
I recognized him.
“Marcus?”
Silence.
Then he said,
“I didn’t have time to explain.”
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“You put cameras in my apartment?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Another silence.
“Marcus!”
“I removed them.”
“What?”
“I found them this morning.”
My knees nearly gave out.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t know who I could trust.”
I looked toward the front door.
“Tell me what is happening.”
His voice became quieter.
“Your landlord isn’t watching you because of the rent.”
“Then why?”
“Because of what’s inside your apartment.”
I stared at the walls.
“What?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“I found a document.”
“What document?”
“A maintenance record.”
My heart began pounding.
“What does it say?”
“It has your apartment number.”
“So?”
“It also has the date of my accident.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Marcus continued.
“The elevator that injured me was serviced two days before the accident.”
“By your company?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Your landlord.”
I closed my eyes.
He said,
“Daniel Harris wasn’t just involved in the investigation. He owned the subcontracting company that performed the maintenance.”
I felt the room spinning.
“Why would he put cameras in my apartment?”
“I don’t know.”
“You must know something.”
“I know enough to tell you this.”
His voice cracked.
“Whatever they’re looking for, they think you have it.”
I looked at the walls.
The floor.
The ceiling.
The kitchen.
Nothing made sense.
“I don’t have anything.”
“You might.”
“What?”
“The apartment.”
I frowned.
“What about it?”
Marcus took a breath.
“Chloe, how long have you lived there?”
“Seven years.”
“Before you moved in, did anyone tell you the apartment had been renovated?”
“Yes.”
“Did they tell you why?”
“No.”
He went silent.
Then he said the words that changed everything.
“Because a man died in that apartment before you moved in.”
I couldn’t move.
“What?”
“He wasn’t a tenant.”
“Who was he?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because I saw the file.”
“What file?”
“The same file that connects Harris to my accident.”
I gripped the phone.
“Marcus, tell me everything.”
“I can’t over the phone.”
“Then come back.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re following me.”
I looked out the window.
Snow was falling again.
“Where are you?”
He hesitated.
Then finally whispered,
“Union Station.”
“Stay there. I’m coming.”
“No, Chloe.”
But I had already grabbed my coat.
“I’m bringing Liam.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I’m not leaving my son alone.”
“Listen to me.”
His voice became urgent.
“If you leave that apartment, don’t go through the main entrance.”
I stopped.
“Why?”
“Because Harris knows you’re there.”
I looked toward the hallway.
“And if he’s watching?”
Marcus whispered:
“He won’t be watching the front door.”
A cold feeling moved through me.
“Then where?”
I heard Marcus take a breath.
“He’ll be watching the parking lot.”
The call ended.
I stood frozen.
Liam looked at me.
“Mom?”
I grabbed his coat.
“We’re going out the back.”
“But why?”
“Because we’re going to find Marcus.”
As I opened the rear stairwell door, something metallic caught the light beneath the steps.
I bent down.
It was a small black case.
I opened it.
Inside was a key.
And beneath the key was a photograph.
I picked it up.
My hands began shaking.
The photograph showed our apartment building.
But it had been taken fifteen years earlier.
Standing in front of the building were three men.
One was much younger Daniel Harris.
One was Marcus’s former supervisor.
And the third man…
was my father.
I had not seen my father in that photograph since the year he disappeared.
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