The elevator doors had barely closed when Daniel’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and suddenly went pale. The wiretap from Vanessa’s call had captured something unexpected—a second voice. Someone inside my building had been secretly helping her. My knees weakened as everything from the previous five weeks rushed through my mind: whispers from neighbors, unexplained entries into my condo, and a key apparently being used whenever I was away. Somehow, I had never seriously considered who could enter without leaving obvious evidence.

Then a faint click came from the stairwell. A shadow moved across the hallway wall before Gerald Pruitt, our building manager, stepped into view. He had hugged me at my husband’s funeral and repeatedly acted concerned about my wellbeing. Now he stood holding a ring of keys in one hand and a heavy black duffel bag in the other. Gerald looked at me, then at the officers surrounding us. His expression collapsed. “You weren’t supposed to be awake yet,” he whispered. Click continue reading below