Story code: ST-001155
Part 2: The Paper Trail
Nora did not pull her hand back. She kept her eyes fixed on Greg’s hand, which was still pressing down hard on the blue parole folder.
“If we don’t make it official, Greg, Marcus goes back to county jail,” Nora said. Her voice was quiet, steady. “The ankle monitor reports his location every ninety seconds to the central server. The moment he steps onto the street at 8:01 PM, the computer logs a violation. It doesn’t care if his apartment is flooded.”
Greg pulled his hand off the folder, but he stepped closer to the sideboard, blocking Nora’s path to the phone on the wall. “You don’t understand how these officers operate, Nora. You report a leak, they mark the housing as substandard, and they revoke his transition program placement anyway. I’m telling you, the landlord told me to keep it between us.”
“The landlord told you that?” Nora asked.
“Yes,” Greg said. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “He called me directly because he couldn’t reach Marcus. He said we need to handle it quietly.”
I picked up my pen. “Greg, who is the landlord?”
“Mr. Vance,” Greg said immediately. “Vance Management.”
Nora picked up the blue parole folder and flipped it open. The thick paper pages rustled. She ran her finger down the emergency contact sheet. “The landlord listed on Marcus’s lease and housing voucher is the Apex Reentry Housing Trust,” she said, looking up at Greg. “The property supervisor is a woman named Sarah Jenkins. There is no Mr. Vance listed anywhere in these files.”
Greg shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes darted to the window, then back to the folder. “Vance is the subcontractor. The guy who manages the actual maintenance crew. He’s the one who called.”
“Then let’s verify it with the Apex emergency line,” Nora said. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and pointed to a printed emergency number in the folder. “They have a twenty-four-hour maintenance dispatch for the transitional units.”
“No, don’t call them,” Greg said, his voice cracking slightly. He reached out as if to grab Nora’s phone, then stopped himself, pulling his arms back to his sides. “They’ll just log it as a tenant issue. You’re going to get him kicked out over a simple misunderstanding.”
“A pipe burst is not a simple misunderstanding,” Nora said. She began dialing the number printed on the document inside the blue folder.
Marcus sat perfectly still, his eyes locked on Nora’s fingers as she pressed the keypad. His breathing was shallow.
Greg took a step backward, his back pressing against the dining room china cabinet. “Nora, put the phone down. We don’t need to involve the agency. I can just drive over there and check it myself first.”
“You just said Marcus had to sign the emergency maintenance entry form,” Nora said, the phone now pressing against her ear. “If you go alone, how does Marcus sign the form?”
Greg did not answer. He looked at his watch again, then at the floor.
The phone speaker began to ring, the tone sharp and loud in the quiet dining room.