Stephen was already writing.
“First thing tomorrow we block any indirect access. Account reviews, notaries, powers of attorney, digital signatures, the IRS, credit cards, insurance, credit bureaus. And you,” he pointed at me, “do not answer anything without forwarding it to me first.”
My father picked up his phone again.
“And tonight I’m calling the building manager of your apartment. If Patrick tries to get in, we’ll change the locks before dawn.”
I nodded.
Nothing surprised me anymore.
Or maybe it did.
I was surprised to finally be surrounded by people who, instead of asking me for patience, got to work.
I went back upstairs to the room past three.
I slept for an hour, maybe less.
At ten past six, the doorbell woke me up.
I sat up straight.
I heard quick footsteps downstairs, a male voice in the foyer, then another, lower, unfamiliar.
I went down without thinking.
