“And that door used to be numbered twenty-seven.”
Ray’s jaw tightened.
“The property was renumbered.”
Tom smiled without humor.
“I know.”
“My unit used to be thirty-one.”
“Now it’s 172.”
Ray looked toward Tom’s open unit.
“Then you know how this works.”
“Yes.”
Tom stepped closer.
“That is why I’m asking where her renumbering amendment is.”
Louise looked at him.
Ray frowned.
“What?”
Tom went back to his folding table.
He picked up a yellowed document from one of the folders.
He held it out.
“When Cedar Grove renumbered the property, every existing tenant was supposed to receive one of these.”
Ray looked at the page.
PROPERTY UNIT NUMBER CONVERSION ACKNOWLEDGMENT.
OLD UNIT: 31.
NEW UNIT: 172.
CUSTOMER: THOMAS BENNETT.
SIGNED.
Tom tapped the bottom.
“I signed this six years ago.”
“They updated my payment record.”
“My access code.”
“My lease number.”
“Everything.”
He looked at Louise.
“Did you sign one?”
Louise shook her head slowly.
“I don’t remember anything like that.”
Ray said:
“She would have.”
Tom looked at him.
“Then show it.”
Ray’s expression hardened.
“You don’t work here.”
“No.”
“Then stop acting like you do.”
Tom nodded.
“That should make proving me wrong easier.”
Ray stepped closer.
“Back off.”
“One more problem and I’ll have both of you escorted off the property.”
Louise clutched the bank statements against her chest.
“Please.”
Her voice was smaller now.
“Don’t lock me out.”
Ray looked at her.
“Those are the last things I have of my husband.”
Tom looked toward the open unit.
Then at the broken lock on the ground.
Something changed in his expression.
His wife had been dead three years.
Tom had his own boxes inside 172.
His wife’s sewing machine.
Christmas decorations.
A set of dishes their daughter did not want but Tom could not throw away.
A cardboard box of birthday cards.
He understood exactly what Louise meant by only things.
People said it when they were trying not to sound foolish.
Tom stepped between Louise and the open unit.
“She’s not leaving until you explain why her payments disappeared.”
Ray laughed once.
“I don’t owe either of you an explanation.”
“You don’t get to come onto private property and call me a thief.”
Tom’s voice remained calm.
“I didn’t call you a thief.”
“I asked where her payments went.”
“That is all.”
Ray looked toward the office.
“I’m calling security.”
Tom shrugged.
“Call whoever you need.”
“But before anyone carries those boxes away, show us the renumbering record.”
Ray pointed at Tom’s unit.
“Go finish your business.”
Tom did not move.
Louise touched his arm lightly.
“Mr…”
“Bennett.”
“Tom Bennett.”
“Mr. Bennett, you don’t have to do this.”
Tom looked at her.
“I know.”
“Then why?”
He glanced toward his own open unit.
“My wife’s things are next door.”
Louise understood.
Tom continued.
“If somebody cut my lock and told me the computer mattered more than my bank statement, I’d want one person to ask another question.”
Ray shook his head.
“Touching.”
“Now move.”
Tom ignored him.
“Louise, was this always the exact physical unit?”
“Yes.”
“Harold called it twenty-seven from the first day.”
“You never moved contents to another space?”
“Never.”
Tom crouched near the number plate.