Sean stepped out of the Rolls Royce in front of the apartnt building at exactly eleven forty-seven in the morning.
Jas pulled away smoothly the mont the door closed. The engine barely made a sound as the car disappeared around the corner. Sean stood on the sidewalk for a mont and looked up at the building.
It wasn’t impressive. Four floors. Brick exterior that was starting to show its age. A small garden out front that Makima kept neat even though the building didn’t deserve that much care. The kind of place that didn’t ask too many questions and didn’t offer too many luxuries. Exactly the kind of place a broke college freshman would call ho.
Except Sean wasn’t broke anymore.
He adjusted his jacket and walked toward the entrance.
The lobby was quiet. Small. A row of mailboxes on one wall. A noticeboard with flyers for tutoring services and lost cats. The elevator that made a grinding noise every ti it passed the second floor. Sean took the stairs.
He was halfway up the first flight when he heard it.
A voice. Low. Careful. Like soone trying not to be heard through walls.
He slowed down.
The voice was coming from the ground floor. From the small office behind the front desk where Makima handled building business. The door was almost closed but not completely.
Sean stopped on the third step. Listened.
"...I’ve told you already. I need more ti." Makima’s voice. But different from how she usually sounded. Tight. Controlled. The way a person sounds when they are holding sothing very heavy and trying not to let anyone see.
A pause. She was on the phone.
"I understand that. But thirty days is not enough to—" Another pause. Longer this ti. "Yes. I know what the contract says. I know what happens if I—" She stopped. Whatever the person on the other end said made her go quiet for several seconds. "Fine. I hear you."
The call ended.
Sean heard her exhale. Long and slow. The kind of breath that carries weight.
He stood still on the stairs.
In his past life, he never paid attention to Makima beyond rent day. She was always kind. Always had a smile. Brought him soup once when he had a fever during exam season. He just assud she was naturally the warst person in the building.
He never stopped to wonder if she was carrying sothing she didn’t want anyone else to see.
He rembered now though. In the future he ca from, about eight months from this point, Makima’s building had sold. He rembered seeing new managent notices on the board. New rules. Rent increases. Half the long-term tenants moved out. He rembered thinking at the ti that it was strange because Makima loved this building. She talked about it like it was her family’s legacy.
He never found out why she sold.
Now he had a very specific feeling about why.
He walked back down the stairs quietly. Knocked on the office door.
"One mont," said Makima. Her voice was steady again. Professional.
"It’s Sean," he said.
A short pause. Then: "Co in."
He opened the door.
The office was small. A desk with a computer. Filing cabinets along one wall. A small window that looked out at the side alley. Nothing fancy. But clean and organized the way everything Makima touched tended to be.
She was sitting behind the desk. Her black hair was down today, falling around her shoulders. She was wearing a simple dark blue blouse. Her eyes looked up at him when he entered and she smiled.
It was a good smile. Practiced. Convincing.
But her eyes didn’t match it.
"Sean," she said warmly. "How are you? You look very sharp. New suit?"
"Yeah," said Sean. He sat down in the chair across the desk without being invited. "You okay?"
She tilted her head slightly. "Of course. Why?"
"You look tired," said Sean.
"I’m always tired," said Makima lightly. "I run a building. It’s a full-ti job."
"I heard you on the phone," said Sean.
A beat. Very small. Almost invisible. But he caught it.
"Building business," she said. "Nothing exciting."
Sean leaned back in the chair and looked at her. Not aggressively. Just steadily. The way you look at soone when you want them to know you’re not going anywhere and you’re not fooled.
Makima held his gaze for about four seconds. Then she looked down at her desk.
"You’re very observant for soone your age," she said quietly.
"I have a lot on my mind," said Sean. "Tell what’s going on."
"Sean, I appreciate the concern but it’s really not sothing—"
"Is it about the building?" said Sean.
Her hands stilled on the desk.
That was enough.
"Who is it?" said Sean.
Makima looked up. For a mont he thought she was going to shut the whole conversation down. Put the professional smile back on and redirect him upstairs.
Instead she let out a breath. Long and tired.
"You’re not going to drop this, are you," she said. Not a question.
"No," said Sean.
She was quiet for a mont. Then: "How much did you hear?"
"Enough to know soone is pressuring you," said Sean. "About the building."
Makima folded her hands on the desk and looked at them. "It’s complicated."
"Most things worth talking about are," said Sean. "Tell ."
She was quiet for another mont. Outside a car passed on the street. The building settled with a small creak sowhere above them.
"My brother," said Makima finally. Her voice was careful. Like she was handling sothing fragile. "His na is Dayo. He’s twenty-three. Not the most..." She paused. "Responsible person in the world. He gets into things he doesn’t fully understand and then realizes too late that the water is deeper than he thought."
"What did he get into?" said Sean.
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