Mateo turned back to me.
“Call Lynn.”
“You call him.”
A pause.
Then, unexpectedly, Mateo nodded.
“Fair.”
He took out his phone.
Mr.
Lynn answered quickly this time.
“Mr.
Falcone.
Is everything settled?”
“No.”
That single word changed the atmosphere.
Mateo put the call on speaker.
“You told us Ms.
Cruz’s reassignment was valid under her transfer provision.”
“It is.”
Mateo looked at me.
I held the page closer.
“Then explain the equivalency requirement.”
Silence.
Mr.
Lynn finally said, “There’s a rent reduction.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“The owner approved the restructuring.”
“Also not my question.”
Mateo’s voice remained quiet, but something about it made even me stop feeling triumphant.
He didn’t need to shout.
He spoke like a man accustomed to people realizing the consequences before he described them.
“Is 4C equivalent in size and function to 4B?”
“Well, no, technically, but—”
“And where is the written notice?”
“I called Elena several times.”
Mateo looked at me.
I shook my head.
“No email.
No letter.
Nothing under my door.”
Mr.
Lynn’s voice sharpened.
“Elena, you knew the building was being sold.”
“I knew it was being sold.
I did not know strangers would enter my home while I was at work, move everything I own, and give my apartment to someone else before I returned.”
“You’re making this sound more dramatic than it was.”
I stared at the cracked photograph on the floor.
Mateo followed my eyes.
He stepped into 4C for the first time.
His gaze moved slowly around the cramped room.
Boxes blocked part of the kitchenette.
My mattress had been leaned upright against a wall because maintenance apparently couldn’t decide where else to put it.
A lamp shade was crushed beneath a plastic storage bin.
Mateo bent and picked up the broken frame.
The photograph inside showed my mother and me at my nursing graduation.
His expression hardened.
“Who authorized maintenance to enter her apartment?” he asked.
