Chapter 5: The Man Who Managed the Building
Marcus Webb arrived at nine the next morning.
He had not been invited.
Caleb opened the door and Marcus was already smiling — the particular smile of a man who believes he is about to have a reasonable conversation with someone who will ultimately agree with him.
"Caleb.
Good morning.
Sorry to come up directly, I just thought it was easier to talk in person."
"You could have called."
"Of course.
Of course." Marcus stepped in without being asked.
He was wearing a charcoal suit and carrying a leather folder.
He looked around the entryway, then toward the hallway.
"I wanted to make sure everything was all right.
We had a note from one of the other residents — they saw a woman with children in the elevator last night and were concerned."
"Concerned about what?"
Marcus opened his hands in a gesture that was meant to look generous.
"Just the usual.
Building security.
Visitor policy.
You know how it is."
"I know how it is," Caleb said.
"Tell me which resident."
"I'm not really in a position to—"
"Which resident, Marcus."
A short pause.
"Mr.
Aldridge.
Fourteenth floor."
Caleb knew Aldridge.
He had met him twice in the lobby.
Both times Aldridge had found a way to mention what he paid in monthly fees.
"Olivia has been coming to this building three times a week for three years," Caleb said.
"She has a key.
She's been vetted by your agency.
She knows the security code."
"As an employee, yes.
As a—"
"As a person," Caleb said.
"As a person staying in my apartment, as my guest, in a bedroom I own, in a building where I pay more per month than most people earn in a year." He kept his voice level.
"Is there an actual policy violation here, Marcus?
A written one?
Show me the page."
Marcus's smile had not disappeared, but it had changed quality.
It was working harder now.
"There's no formal violation, no.
I just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page."
"We are," Caleb said.
"She stays.
If Mr.
Aldridge has a concern, he's welcome to bring it to me directly." He opened the front door.
"Thanks for coming up."
Marcus left.
The smile went with him, but something else stayed — the knowledge that someone had noticed Olivia was here and had decided it was a problem worth reporting.
Caleb closed the door and stood in the hallway for a moment.
From the kitchen he could hear movement.
He walked through and found Olivia at the counter with one baby on her hip, warming a bottle with her free hand.
She was wearing the same clothes as the night before.
She had clearly not slept much.
"I heard some of that," she said, without turning around.
"It's handled."
"Is it?" She turned then.
Her eyes were steady.
"Men like that don't stop because you open a door at them, Mr.
Hart.
They just go find a different door."
He looked at her.
"You've dealt with him before."
"He stopped me in the lobby once.
Eight months ago.
Asked to see my ID.
I showed him my agency card and my key fob and he still stood there for forty-five seconds deciding whether that was enough." She turned back to the bottle.
"I was late to start your floors that day.
I didn't explain why."
Caleb pulled out a chair and sat down.
"I didn't know."
"I know you didn't." She tested the bottle on her wrist.
"That's the thing about being invisible, Mr.
Hart.
The people who benefit from it are always the last to know it's happening."
The baby on her hip grabbed at the bottle with both hands.
She let him take it and watched him drink.
"My name is Caleb," he said.
She glanced at him sideways.
"I know what your name is."
"I'd like you to use it."
A pause.
"All right.
Caleb."
He nodded.
Then: "The babies' father.
You don't have to tell me.
But if there's something I should know — something that affects whether you're safe here — I'd rather know it now."
Olivia was quiet for a moment.
The baby drank.
The refrigerator hummed.
"His name is Derek," she said finally.
"He left eight months ago.
Right after the twins were born." She glanced at the two sleeping infants in the portable bassinet Caleb had set up near the window.
"He said three was too many.
He said he hadn't signed up for this." She said it the way you say something you have repeated to yourself so many times it has lost its power to hurt — almost.
"He hasn't contacted us since."
"Does he know where you've been staying?"
"No."
"Does he know where you work?"
She looked at him then.
Really looked at him.
And he understood, a half-second before she said it, what the answer meant.
May you like
"Yes," she said.
"He does."
