Marcus wanted to leave.
He said it the next morning while Liam ate cereal.
“I'll go.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Someone knows we're investigating.”
“That's exactly why you shouldn't disappear.”
He shook his head.
“That's why I should.”
Liam looked up.
“Why?”
I answered quickly.
“Nothing.”
Marcus lowered his voice.
“Chloe, someone is trying to scare you.”
“Then leaving would make it easier.”
He stared at me.
“That isn't how this works.”
“How does it work?”
“You don't know who you're dealing with.”
“Neither do you.”
He had no answer.
After Liam left for school, Marcus sat at the table with the documents spread around him.
The rent notice.
The repair list.
The old wiring diagram.
Daniel Mercer's information.
The photograph of the smoke detector.
I looked at the pile.
“What are you seeing?”
“Patterns.”
“Which ones?”
He pointed to the rent notice.
“Your landlord started the eviction process after you fell behind.”
“Yes.”
“When did you first receive the notice?”
“Three weeks ago.”
He pointed to the wiring diagram.
“When did the electrician say the old system was accessed?”
“Within the last few years.”
“Not enough.”
He pointed to the photograph.
“Then there's this.”
“The smoke detector.”
“Right.”
“What about it?”
He zoomed in.
“Look at the date.”
I leaned closer.
There was a faint manufacturer's stamp.
“Six months ago.”
Marcus nodded.
“So someone replaced the detector recently.”
“Maybe.”
“Who?”
“The landlord.”
“Maybe.”
I looked at him.
“You're doing it again.”
“What?”
“Turning possibilities into suspects.”
He shook his head.
“I'm not accusing anyone.”
“Good.”
“I'm looking for facts.”
He opened another photograph.
This one showed the basement cabinet.
A handwritten maintenance number appeared in the corner.
217.
Underneath it was a second number.
I stared.
“What is that?”
Marcus zoomed in.
“Unit 14.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“Exactly.”
We checked the building records.
Unit 14 was a storage space in the basement.
It hadn't been rented for years.
Marcus looked at me.
“Someone connected your apartment to an unused storage unit.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
He called Mr. Henderson.
The landlord arrived within the hour.
When Marcus showed him the number, his face went blank.
“Unit 14.”
“You know it?”
“Of course.”
“Who had access?”
“No one.”
“Then why is it labeled here?”
Mr. Henderson didn't answer.
Marcus pointed to the maintenance records.
“This number appears on three documents.”
The landlord looked at them.
His expression changed.
“I didn't write those.”
“Who did?”
“I don't know.”
“You supervised the renovation.”
“Yes.”
“You approved the electrical work.”
“Yes.”
“Then someone had access under your name.”
Mr. Henderson sat down.
“I need to think.”
Marcus remained standing.
“Think faster.”
I touched his arm.
“Marcus.”
He stopped.
Mr. Henderson looked at me.
“Chloe, I'm not responsible for whatever happened before you moved in.”
“I know.”
“But if someone has been accessing the building…”
He stopped.
“Then we need to know.”
That afternoon, we opened Unit 14.
The lock was old.
Marcus examined it.
“Someone has opened this recently.”
Mr. Henderson stared.
“How?”
“Scratches.”
The room smelled of dust and damp concrete.
There were old shelves.
Broken chairs.
Paint cans.
Nothing unusual.
Then Marcus moved a stack of boxes.
Behind them was a narrow door.
Mr. Henderson swore softly.
“I've never seen that.”
Marcus examined the frame.
The door was newer than the wall.
“Where does it go?”
Mr. Henderson shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Marcus opened it.
A narrow service corridor extended behind the wall.
At the far end was another door.
The corridor led directly beneath the apartment wing.
My apartment was above us.
I felt my heartbeat in my throat.
“Someone could have accessed the apartments from here.”
Marcus nodded.
“Possibly.”
Mr. Henderson looked sick.
“Close it.”
Marcus didn't move.
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because we need to know what this is.”
He walked forward.
I followed.
The corridor ended beneath a section of flooring.
There were old pipes overhead.
And one more bundle of wires.
This time, there was no number.
There was a date.
Eight years earlier.
The same date as the renovation.
Marcus stared at it.
“Someone built this during the renovation.”
Mr. Henderson whispered, “Why?”
Marcus pointed at the floor.
“Because they needed access.”
“To what?”
Marcus looked up.
“Apartment 217.”
I felt dizzy.
Then something clattered behind us.
We turned.
The basement door had closed.
Mr. Henderson rushed toward it.
It wouldn't open.
Marcus tried.
Locked.
“Who locked us in?”
Nobody answered.
I pulled out my phone.
No signal.
Liam would be home in less than an hour.
I looked at Marcus.
“What do we do?”
He examined the corridor.
“Stay calm.”
“I am calm.”
“You're shaking.”
“So are you.”
He looked at his hands.
For the first time, I saw fear in his face.
Then he noticed something beside the wall.
A small metal plate.
He crouched.
There was writing scratched into it.
Three numbers.
217.
Then beneath them, a date.
The same date Daniel Mercer had moved into the building.
Marcus stared.
“This wasn't built for the renovation.”
“What?”
“It was built for him.”
My mouth went dry.
“What are you saying?”
Marcus stood slowly.
“Someone had been watching Daniel.”
“And now?”
He looked at me.
“Now someone may be watching you.”
A metallic sound came from the other end of the corridor.
A lock turning.
Marcus stepped in front of me.
The door opened.
Mr. Henderson's face went pale.
A man stood in the doorway.
He wasn't wearing a uniform.
He wasn't carrying tools.
He simply looked at us.
Then his eyes settled on me.
“Chloe?”
I couldn't move.
Marcus stepped forward.
“Who are you?”
The man didn't answer.
He looked past Marcus toward the hidden wiring.
Then back at me.
“You shouldn't have opened this.”
And suddenly, the warning on Marcus's phone made sense.
Someone hadn't been trying to frighten us away from the building.
They had been trying to keep us from discovering who had been using it.
Click here to continue reading: PART 9: The Man at the Hidden Door Knew My Name, and His Explanation Turned a Forgotten Building Problem Into Something Much More Personal
The Stranger Beneath the Grocery Store Light Wasn’t Asking for Money, but My Son’s Question Made Walking Away Impossible
Part 8 of 12
