Chapter 4: Not the First Complaint
Daniel Cho had a careful voice.
The kind of voice that had learned, probably through experience, not to say too much too soon.
"I can't share details about other complaints," he said.
"But I can tell you that your documentation is the most thorough we've received."
"My husband was a methodical man."
"The photographs are very clear." Another pause.
"Would you be willing to share the original footage as well?"
"I have it saved in three places," I said.
"I can send you a copy today."
He asked me to email it directly to him.
I wrote his address on the notepad beside the phone, the one with the blue flowers on the cover that my granddaughter had given me.
Then I asked the question I actually wanted answered.
"What happens now, Mr.
Cho?"
"We'll open a formal review.
If the footage supports what you've described, we'll issue a lease violation notice.
Depending on her response, it could escalate from there."
"To eviction?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"That's possible.
It depends on the full record."
I thanked him and hung up.
I sent the footage that afternoon.
All forty-eight hours of it, clipped into labeled segments.
11 p.m.
wine bottle.
2 a.m.
garbage bag.
Morning after confrontation.
I named each file clearly so no one would have to guess.
Madison was quiet for the rest of that day.
No music through the wall.
No door slamming.
I saw her car in the driveway but no sign of her.
The next morning, she knocked on my door.
I opened it.
She looked like she hadn't slept.
"I need to talk to you," she said.
"All right."
She didn't wait to be invited in.
She stepped up onto the porch and lowered her voice.
"Did you actually send footage to my landlord?"
"I did."
Her jaw tightened.
"You had no right to record me."
"You were on my property and on a public street," I said.
"The camera is entirely legal.
My husband looked into it before he installed it."
"This is going to cost me my apartment."
"That depends on what you do next."
She stared at me.
"What does that mean?"
"It means you have some choices still available to you, Madison.
But that window is closing."
Her eyes filled.
Not the furious tears from the day before.
Something rawer.
"I can't lose this place.
I just — I can't."
I looked at her for a moment.
She was younger than my youngest daughter.
There were shadows under her eyes that hadn't come from one bad night.
"Come inside," I said.
"I'll make tea."
She blinked.
"Why would you do that?"
"Because I want to understand something," I said.
"And I think you might need someone to talk to."
She hesitated on the doorstep.
Then she came inside.
I didn't know yet what she was going to tell me.
But I had lived long enough to know that people who behave the way Madison had behaved are almost never doing it for no reason.
May you like
Almost never.
She sat at my kitchen table and wrapped both hands around the mug I gave her, and I waited.
