Story code: ST-001120
Part 2: The Paper Trail
The next afternoon, the hallway was quiet, save for the low hum of the vending machine down by the elevators. I was carrying a heavy plastic bag of trash to the chute at the end of the hall when the door to the service stairs creaked open. Gary stepped out, his tool belt jingling. He didn’t have his tools in hand this time, just his official maintenance clipboard clutched tightly under his arm. He looked at me, adjusting his collar, and stepped directly into my path.
‘Sarah,’ he said, blocking the narrow hallway. ‘Glad I caught you. I was hoping we could settle up for yesterday’s work.’
I stopped, keeping the trash bag between us as a makeshift barrier. ‘Settle up? For what, Gary?’
‘For the lock,’ Gary said, his tone casual but carrying an underlying threat. ‘I checked my inventory this morning. That deadbolt cylinder I put in for you was a premium grade. Usually, I’d charge two hundred and fifty dollars for a custom installation like that. But since we’re neighbors, let’s call it two hundred flat. Cash is easiest. It saves us both the hassle of the official paperwork and processing fees.’
My grip tightened on the plastic bag until my knuckles turned white. ‘You told me yesterday it was a favor. You said you did it out of the goodness of your heart because you saw me struggling. You destroyed my box of keepsakes, and now you want me to pay you?’
‘It was a favor,’ Gary said, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, his heavy work boots pressing into the carpet. ‘I didn’t report your storage violation to the management office, did I? If I had written up that box of yours, they would have fined you a hundred dollars instantly. And I saved you from having to wait weeks for management to approve a formal repair request. But my time isn’t free, Sarah. I went out of my way to make sure your apartment was secure. Surely your personal safety and peace of mind are worth two hundred dollars.’
He was shifting the trap, converting his unsolicited intrusion into an inescapable debt. If I refused to pay, he could easily report the hallway violation now, or worse, use his master keycard access to make my life miserable under the guise of routine maintenance inspections. I felt cornered, trapped by a debt I had never agreed to, all while my mother’s ruined recipes sat on my kitchen counter inside.
As he spoke, Gary gestured with his clipboard, tilting the metal board toward me to emphasize his point. My eyes immediately locked onto the top sheet of paper-the official maintenance work order log for the week. The white page was divided into columns for unit numbers, descriptions of work, and hours logged.
Near the bottom of the page, under yesterday’s date, was a handwritten entry in neat blue ink that made my breath catch: Unit 3B, Deadbolt lock replacement, Requested by: Management, Status: Completed, Hours logged: 2.
I stared at the writing, processing the information. Gary was standing here, looking me in the eye, and claiming he had performed this repair on his own personal time as an unpaid gift that I owed him cash for. But the official log in front of me proved the exact opposite. He had already recorded the job as part of his regular shift, billing the property management company for the exact hours he spent at my door. He was double-dipping, trying to extort cash from me for a job he was already getting paid to do.
‘Well?’ Gary asked, tapping his pen against the metal clip of the board, his boots pressing closer. ‘Do we have a deal, or do I need to file that report about the hallway fire hazards?’
I looked from the clipboard back up to his expectant face, my mind racing as the true nature of his game finally became clear.