Chapter 3 - The Man Who Came Downstairs
The next three nights, Rafe did not speak to me.
That should have made work easier.
It didn’t.
I began noticing his men everywhere.
Not following me exactly.
Watching corridors.
Checking stairwells.
Looking at contractors for the first time in months.
Bridget had told him what I was: a gap in their security.
The irony would have been funny if my daughter were not sleeping four miles away with no idea that her mother had lied about her name for years.
At 2:10 on Thursday morning, I was folding microfiber cloths in the basement when Rafe appeared again.
Alone.
I did not look up.
“You have an office.”
“I’m aware.”
“Use it.”
“You always this welcoming?”
“I’m being paid to clean, not host.”
He leaned against a washer.
“I found Gavin Stokes.”
My hands stopped.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Milwaukee.”
“Why did he run?”
“He says he didn’t.”
I looked at him.
“People often accidentally turn off their phones, empty apartments, and cross state lines.”
“That was my reaction.”
“What did he say?”
“His wife called. Their son was sick.”
“Convenient.”
“Yes.”
I folded another cloth.
Rafe watched.
“He passed a polygraph.”
I laughed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t believe in them.”
“I believe they measure stress.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
He studied me.
“How do you know?”
I kept folding.
He waited.
Eventually I said, “I used to work around investigations.”
“As what?”
“Not your business.”
“It became my business when you knew my elevator was about to kill me.”
I put the cloth down.
“Do you know what a brake governor sounds like when its cable has been tensioned too high?”
“No.”
“Do you know what a counterweight guide sounds like when someone has removed a damper?”
“No.”
“Then my past is not why you’re alive. My ears are.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the one you get.”
He should have become angry.
Instead he nodded.
“Fine.”
That unsettled me more.
“Why are you here?”
“Because you looked at the service schematic.”
“So?”
“Then you reacted to Gideon’s name.”
“So?”
“And because someone used my credentials to access my office while I was speaking to you.”
I stared.
He continued.
“They opened a file cabinet.”
“What was inside?”
“Legal conversion documents.”
“Missing?”
“No.”
“Copied?”
“Maybe.”
“What else?”
He hesitated.
“Old property records.”
My pulse changed.
“From when?”
“Before my father died.”
“Which properties?”
“The Ardmore.”
I looked away.
Rafe saw it.
“Anna.”
“Don’t.”
“Your name isn’t Anna.”
My entire body became still.
He spoke carefully.
“I don’t know what it is.”
Good.
“But I know that name belongs to a woman who didn’t exist before 2022.”
I felt the room close.
“Bridget told you.”
“No.”
I believed him.
That meant his people had searched independently.
“Who else knows?”
“Two men.”
“Names.”
“Marco and Elias.”
“Who are they?”
“Mine.”
“That does not answer the question.”
“Security.”
I hated how quickly my mind calculated exits.
Laundry door.
Service stairs.
Freight lift.
Rafe noticed.
“I’m not exposing you.”
“You already did.”
“No.”
“You searched me.”
“Yes.”
“Then you exposed me.”
His face hardened.
“I’m trying to understand whether the person who saved my life is also the person trying to kill me.”
“If I wanted you dead, I would have let you step into the elevator.”
Silence.
He nodded.
“That is the strongest argument you’ve made.”
I grabbed the linen cart.
He moved out of my way.
Then said, “Somebody photographed a woman leaving your apartment building this morning.”
The cart stopped.
The world stopped with it.
“What?”
Rafe reached into his pocket.
My body reacted before my mind.
I caught his wrist.
Hard.
He froze.
So did I.
He slowly opened his empty hand.
“Phone.”
I released him.
He showed me a photograph.
Me.
Outside my building.
No Juny.
Thank God.
“Who took this?”
“My people.”
Rage hit.
“You followed me.”
“After I learned your file was fake.”
“You had no right.”
“No.”
The answer stunned me.
He continued.
“But whoever is targeting me has access to building systems. I needed to know whether you led back to them.”
“Did I?”
“No.”
“Then stop.”
He looked at me.
“I will.”
I almost did not believe him.
Then he deleted the photo in front of me.
Not performative.
Final.
“Backups?”
“None.”
“How do I know?”
“You don’t.”
At least he understood trust.
I took a breath.
“My daughter cannot become part of this.”
The words left before I could stop them.
Rafe’s face changed.
“You have a daughter.”
“Forget I said that.”
“I can’t.”
“Try.”
“How old?”
I stared.
He raised both hands slightly.
“Fine.”
I pushed the cart toward the door.
He said, “Someone else was outside your building.”
I turned.
“What?”
“My people noticed a gray sedan before they left.”
“What plate?”
“Obscured.”
“Driver?”
“No clear face.”
“Time?”
“Six twenty.”
Juny left for school at seven.
My stomach dropped.
Rafe saw it.
“Anna.”
I walked past him.
He caught the door before it closed.
“Let me help.”
“No.”
“If they found you because of me—”
“They didn’t.”
“How do you know?”
Because I had been living with the possibility for four years.
Because Evan’s death had taught me what surveillance felt like.
Because the brass key meant my past had always been waiting.
“I know.”
I left before he could ask more.
At home, I checked every window.
Mrs. Alvarez had already taken Juny to school.
I called.
She answered cheerfully.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes.”
Lie.
“Can you pick Juny up too?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t use the usual corner.”
Silence.
“Addie?”
“Construction.”
Another lie.
She agreed.
I opened the tin box.
Brass key.
Evan’s wallet.
One old photograph.
My brother standing beside an elevator machine room door four years ago.
I had always focused on his face.
That morning, I zoomed in on the metal plate behind him.
ARDMORE SERVICE LEVEL B.
The current Ardmore had no Level B on any plan.
I called Bridget.
She answered after one ring.
“Anna?”
“Does the Ardmore have a basement below the laundry floor?”
Silence.
“Why?”
“Answer.”
“Officially? No.”
“And unofficially?”
“I found an old fire map.”
My heart beat faster.
“There’s a sealed sublevel.”
“How do you enter?”
“I don’t know.”
I looked at the brass key.
“I think I do.”
That night I returned to work with the key in my pocket.
Rafe was waiting near the service elevator.
I walked past.
He matched my pace.
“What changed?”
“Nothing.”
“You called Bridget.”
“She told you?”
“No. She suddenly requested pre-war building plans.”
I stopped.
He stopped.
“You want answers?”
“Yes.”
“So do I.”
I took the brass key from my pocket and showed it to him.
His expression changed.
“Where did you get that?”
“My brother.”
“Who was he?”
I looked toward the floor beneath us.
May you like
“A man who died asking what was under your building.”
For the first time, Rafe Castellane had nothing to say.
