Chapter 7 - Forty-Two DoorsOak Terrace Apartments stood between a busy road and an abandoned furniture warehouse in Richmond's Southside neighborhood.
The property had been built in the early 1980s.
Its brick exterior was weathered, the parking lot patched, and several balcony railings rusted along their edges.
Forty-two apartments occupied three connected buildings.
Some residents had lived there for more than twenty years.
Daniel had visited Oak Terrace dozens of times.
Usually with executives.
Usually for photographs.
That Monday morning, he came alone.
He parked beside a faded playground.
A woman sweeping the front steps watched him approach.
"You're Daniel Mercer."
"Yes."
"I'm Marisol Alvarez."
He recognized her name from tenant correspondence.
She chaired the residents' association.
"I was hoping to speak with you," Daniel said.
Marisol leaned on her broom.
"That's funny. I've been hoping to speak with you for four years."
He accepted the rebuke.
"Can you show me what's happening here?"
Marisol studied his expensive coat.
Then she looked toward the buildings.
"You really want to see?"
"Yes."
"Come on."
The first apartment belonged to an elderly man named Mr. Washington.
The ceiling above his kitchen sink was stained dark brown.
A plastic container caught water beneath the cabinet.
"It's been leaking for eight months," he said.
Daniel examined the damage.
"The maintenance records say this unit was repaired."
Mr. Washington laughed.
"Then I must be living in the wrong apartment."
Next, Marisol led Daniel upstairs to a mother with two children.
One bedroom had been closed because of persistent moisture.
The family slept together in the living room.
"Management told me mold remediation was completed," the mother explained.
Daniel looked at the warped floorboards.
"Was a contractor here?"
"A man came with a clipboard. He took pictures. Nobody fixed anything."
Daniel felt the familiar instinct to explain.
To cite budgets, delays, competing priorities.
He resisted.
Instead, he wrote down the apartment number.
Marisol watched him.
"You know what makes me angry?"
Daniel looked up.
"Tell me."
"You built your reputation on restoring neighborhoods. The speeches, the press releases, the ribbon cuttings."
She gestured toward the wall.
"But when our ceilings fell apart, you sent us forms."
Daniel nodded.
"You're right."
Marisol seemed almost irritated by the admission.
"That doesn't fix it."
"No."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'll arrange an independent assessment."
"Another assessment?"
"One whose findings you can see."
She folded her arms.
"And if it says we have to leave?"
"Then we'll need a safe relocation plan that follows the law and doesn't put the costs on families who didn't cause the problem."
Marisol stared at him.
"Those are nice words."
Daniel looked around the room.
"I know."
In the basement maintenance office, the current property manager, Eric Palmer, reluctantly showed Daniel the work-order records.
The computer listed repairs supposedly completed years earlier.
Many contained identical descriptions.
Waterproofing complete.
Wall cavity treated.
Structural seal verified.
Daniel opened a 2020 file.
The vendor was Keystone Restoration.
He looked at Eric.
"Have you ever met anyone from this company?"
Eric shook his head.
"I came here in 2022. Before that, things were handled by headquarters."
"Do you know where the original work reports are?"
"Some old boxes were moved to storage."
"Where?"
Eric pointed toward a locked maintenance room.
"Building B. Lower level."
Daniel made a note.
"Preserve everything there. Don't move or discard anything. The company's legal team will arrange a proper inventory."
Eric looked nervous.
"Am I in trouble?"
"Not for preserving records."
Daniel paused.
"If someone asks you to change them, call Olivia Chen."
Outside, Marisol waited near the playground.
"Did you find what you wanted?"
"Not yet."
She studied his face.
"Somebody said your wedding was canceled."
Daniel looked at her.
"News travels."
"It's Richmond."
He gave a tired smile.
Marisol grew serious.
"They said a little girl called you her father."
"She did."
"Is she?"
"I believe so."
Marisol considered that.
"Then I hope you do better by her than you've done by the children here."
Daniel looked toward the apartment windows.
Several children watched from behind the glass.
He had never thought of them as individuals.
Only occupancy numbers.
That realization embarrassed him.
"I hope so, too."
Marisol glanced toward the street.
A black sedan had stopped beside the curb.
Its windows were tinted.
"That car's been here twice this morning."
Daniel turned.
The sedan pulled away.
"Do you know who it belongs to?"
"No."
He memorized the license plate.
As he walked back to his vehicle, his phone rang.
Olivia.
"Daniel, the closing hasn't happened."
He stopped.
"What?"
"The title company received a notice alleging that the seller's representations about completed restoration work were inaccurate. It wants clarification before proceeding."
"Who sent it?"
"I don't have confirmation yet. South Quay is furious."
Daniel looked back at the building.
"Can you keep the transaction stopped?"
"Not indefinitely. We need evidence, and we need it quickly."
Then her voice changed.
"There's another problem. Someone attempted to remove the 2019 restoration records from our off-site storage facility this morning."
Daniel's stomach tightened.
"Who?"
"The authorization was issued under Robert Vale's former advisory credentials."
Daniel looked toward the road where the black sedan had disappeared.
May you like
For the first time, he wondered whether someone was watching more than the property.
And whether Lucy had accidentally walked into a danger that had nothing to do with a broken engagement.
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