I stood and pulled an old brass key from my pocket, placing it in front of Ethan.

He frowned.

“What’s this?”

“Keep it.”

“For what?”

I buttoned my coat.

“You’ll know soon.”

He laughed as security escorted me toward the elevator.

His friends joined in behind me.

None noticed the tiny letters stamped into the key.

C.H. 001.

And none knew there was only one like it in the entire building.

I didn’t leave Calloway House.

I rode twelve floors down and entered a private office behind the east corridor, where property manager Samuel Pierce waited.

He immediately stood.

“Mr. Calloway.”

“Sit down, Sam.”

His face tightened.

“I heard what happened upstairs.”

“I assumed you would.”

He looked furious for me.

I wasn’t.

Not yet.

Calloway House was my life’s work.

At twenty-three, I really had been a maintenance worker.

By thirty, I was buying neglected apartment buildings.