That night, I couldn't sleep.
Liam was already in bed.
The apartment was quiet except for the radiator clicking every few minutes.
Marcus was on the couch.
I walked into the living room.
“You awake?”
“Yes.”
“Thinking about the wires?”
“Yes.”
I sat in the chair opposite him.
“Tell me what you're thinking.”
He hesitated.
“I think someone installed a monitoring system during the old renovation.”
“For the whole building?”
“Possibly.”
“And apartment 217?”
“Possibly.”
“That's our apartment.”
“I know.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because anything else would be guessing.”
He was right.
I hated that.
The next morning, Mr. Henderson arrived with the electrician.
They opened the basement wall.
Behind it was a narrow service passage.
Dust covered everything.
Marcus used a flashlight.
“There.”
A bundle of wires ran along the ceiling.
One line carried the same faded number.
217.
Mr. Henderson stared.
“That's impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because apartment 217 wasn't connected to anything during the renovation.”
Marcus turned.
“How do you know?”
“Because I was here.”
“You supervised the renovation?”
“Yes.”
“Then why wasn't this removed?”
Mr. Henderson didn't answer.
The electrician followed the wires.
They ended at a small metal cabinet.
The lock was rusted.
Marcus examined it.
“This was opened before.”
“How can you tell?”
“Scratches.”
He pointed to the screws.
“Recently.”
Mr. Henderson frowned.
“Recently?”
“Within the last few years.”
I felt a chill.
“Who has access to this?”
Mr. Henderson looked at the electrician.
Then at Marcus.
“Me.”
“Anyone else?”
“Maintenance contractors.”
Marcus nodded.
“Names?”
“Why?”
“Because someone accessed this after the renovation.”
Mr. Henderson became defensive.
“You're making assumptions.”
“No.”
Marcus pointed.
“I'm reading the evidence.”
The cabinet opened.
Inside were old circuit boards.
One had a handwritten label.
217.
Another had a date.
Eight years earlier.
The date matched the renovation.
I felt sick.
“Why would someone monitor an apartment?”
Marcus didn't answer.
The electrician picked up a board.
“This looks like an early access-control system.”
“Could it record sound?”
“No.”
“Video?”
“Not directly.”
“Then what?”
“Door openings. Motion. Maybe temperature.”
Marcus looked at me.
“Someone could know when a person entered or left.”
I stared at the cabinet.
“Why would anyone care?”
Nobody answered.
Then Mr. Henderson said something quietly.
“The previous tenant.”
I looked at him.
“What about him?”
“He complained about someone entering his apartment.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“Did you believe him?”
Mr. Henderson looked uncomfortable.
“I thought he was mistaken.”
Marcus's expression hardened.
“Did he report it?”
“Yes.”
“To the police?”
“I don't know.”
I looked at Marcus.
He was already thinking.
“Who lived there before me?”
Mr. Henderson hesitated.
“A man named Daniel.”
“Daniel what?”
“I don't remember.”
Marcus looked at the wires.
“Find out.”
Mr. Henderson stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because if he complained about unauthorized access, this matters.”
The landlord sighed.
“I'll check the records.”
He left.
I stood beside Marcus.
“Do you think someone entered our apartment?”
“Before you moved in?”
“Yes.”
“Possibly.”
“While I've been living there?”
He looked at me.
“I don't know.”
That answer terrified me more than anything else.
We checked the apartment.
Every lock.
Every window.
Every cabinet.
Nothing looked disturbed.
Then Marcus noticed the smoke detector.
He stared at it.
“What?”
“Who installed that?”
“The landlord.”
“When?”
“I don't remember.”
He removed the battery cover.
Nothing.
Then he looked at the mounting plate.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“It's newer than the detector.”
I felt my stomach turn.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning someone replaced the detector without replacing the plate.”
“Is that unusual?”
“Not necessarily.”
He looked at me.
“But I'd like to know when.”
He didn't remove it.
Instead, he took a photograph.
That afternoon, Mr. Henderson returned.
He had a folder.
“Daniel Mercer.”
Marcus looked up.
“What happened to him?”
“He moved out six years ago.”
“Why?”
Mr. Henderson hesitated.
“Complaints.”
“What kind?”
“He said someone was entering his apartment.”
My skin prickled.
“Did you investigate?”
“I changed his lock.”
“Did it stop?”
“I don't know.”
Marcus asked, “Did he leave voluntarily?”
Mr. Henderson looked down.
“He stopped paying rent.”
“Because he thought someone was entering his apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Did he owe money?”
“Yes.”
Marcus nodded.
“Do you have his forwarding address?”
“No.”
“Phone?”
“Old number.”
“Give it to me.”
Mr. Henderson frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I want to ask him what happened.”
The landlord handed over the information.
That night, Marcus called.
The number was disconnected.
He tried again.
Nothing.
Then he searched the name online using his phone.
A news article appeared.
He went still.
“What?”
He handed me the phone.
Daniel Mercer had died eighteen months earlier.
A small obituary.
No family listed.
No explanation.
I looked at Marcus.
“Why does this keep getting worse?”
He didn't answer.
Then his phone rang.
An unknown number.
Marcus answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a man's voice.
“Are you the one staying in 217?”
Marcus's expression changed.
I couldn't hear the other side clearly.
“Who is this?”
The caller hung up.
Marcus stared at the screen.
I whispered, “What did he say?”
Marcus looked at me.
“He knew the apartment number.”
The room felt suddenly colder.
Then his phone rang again.
This time, a text arrived.
*Stop looking behind the walls.**
Marcus showed me.
Neither of us spoke.
Liam appeared in the hallway.
“Mom?”
I quickly turned the phone face down.
“What is it?”
“Why are you awake?”
He looked between us.
“Did something happen?”
I walked toward him.
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
Marcus watched me.
I knew we were both lying.
And for the first time, the mystery inside our building no longer felt like something left over from years ago.
Someone knew we were looking.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: The Warning Should Have Sent Marcus Away, but Instead He Found the One Detail That Connected My Rent Notice, the Basement, and the Stranger Who Knew Our Apartment
The Stranger Beneath the Grocery Store Light Wasn’t Asking for Money, but My Son’s Question Made Walking Away Impossible
Part 7 of 12
