Chapter 6 - Someone Inside My Family Was Feeding Them Information
My first thought was Mom.
I hated that.
But it was.
Not because I believed she wanted to hurt me.
Because she had spent years sharing information she didn’t consider private.
My salary.
My dating life.
My work schedule.
My savings goals.
Whenever I protested, she said the same thing.
We’re family.
As if family automatically came with unrestricted access.
I called Marcus.
He told me not to accuse anyone.
“Facts first.”
I hated when he sounded reasonable.
By noon, we knew Northbridge had somehow learned three specific things.
Mrs. Patel was worried about qualifying for financing.
Luis and Andrew had considered relocating within two years.
And I had rejected a buyout despite needing most of my liquid savings for the down payment.
Only a handful of people knew all three.
Me.
Marcus.
Henderson.
The tenants.
And Chloe.
My stomach sank.
Chloe had attended the informal tenant meeting Sunday evening.
She knew everything.
I texted her.
Can you come by tonight?
She replied almost immediately.
Sure. What happened?
At seven, she arrived carrying no luggage and no takeout.
Just herself.
I told her what Victoria said.
Chloe’s face changed.
“You think it was me.”
“I’m asking.”
“That means you think it was me.”
“I think you had the information.”
“So did Marcus.”
“Marcus is my attorney.”
“And I’m your sister.”
The irony hung between us.
Her face hardened.
“You don’t trust me.”
“I told you that already.”
She flinched.
I hated seeing it.
But distrust was not cruelty when trust had been broken six days earlier.
“Did you talk to anyone from Northbridge?”
“No.”
“Did you post about the tenant meeting?”
“No.”
“Did you tell Mom?”
Chloe paused.
My chest tightened.
“What did you tell her?”
“She asked how the apartment stuff was going.”
“And?”
“I said people were trying to buy.”
“Anything else?”
“She asked which people.”
“Chloe.”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
Of course.
There it was again.
Information treated as harmless until it became leverage.
“What exactly did you tell her?”
Chloe sat down.
“Mrs. Patel was nervous about financing. Luis and Andrew weren’t sure whether they’d stay long-term. You had rejected a huge offer.”
Every detail.
“Did Mom tell anyone?”
“I don’t know.”
I called her.
Speakerphone.
Mom answered cautiously.
“Grace.”
“Did you tell anyone about the tenants buying units?”
A pause.
“Why?”
“Mom.”
“I may have mentioned it.”
“To who?”
Another pause.
Then my blood went cold.
“Aunt Diane.”
Chloe closed her eyes.
Of course.
Aunt Diane had worked in commercial real estate for twenty-five years.
“Why?”
“She asked how things were going.”
“Did you tell her specific details?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Try.”
Mom became defensive.
“I wasn’t taking minutes, Grace.”
I gripped the phone.
“What did you tell her?”
“I said one woman was having financing trouble. That a couple might move anyway. That you turned down a ridiculous amount of money because you were being stubborn.”
Chloe mouthed, Wow.
I almost laughed.
“Do you know who Diane works with?”
“She works for several investors.”
“Which investors?”
Silence.
Then Mom said, “I don’t know.”
Marcus found out thirty minutes later.
Aunt Diane wasn’t employed by Northbridge.
But her brokerage firm had worked on three Northbridge transactions in the previous year.
I called Diane.
She answered cheerfully.
“Grace! How are you, sweetheart?”
“Did you share information about my building with Northbridge?”
Silence.
That was all I needed.
“Diane.”
“I didn’t share anything confidential.”
“You had no information except what Mom told you.”
“She was worried.”
“So you called them?”
“I know Victoria.”
My stomach tightened.
“How well?”
“We’ve worked together.”
Chloe stood and began pacing.
Diane continued.
“I mentioned that some tenants might be flexible.”
“Why?”
“Because their offer is excellent.”
“For Henderson.”
“And for you.”
“I rejected it.”
“That’s because you’re being emotional.”
I closed my eyes.
Another woman deciding what my home meant.
Another person convinced practicality entitled her to override me.
“I did not authorize you to negotiate for me.”
“I wasn’t negotiating.”
“You gave an investor information designed to weaken our position.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“No. It’s accurate.”
Diane sighed.
“Grace, you’re twenty-eight. Take the money. Buy a condo somewhere newer. You’ll thank me in ten years.”
I looked at Chloe.
For once, her face reflected exactly what I felt.
Disbelief.
“No,” I said.
Diane laughed lightly.
“You’ve become awfully difficult lately.”
I smiled.
“Thank you.”
“What?”
“I said thank you.”
Then I ended the call.
Chloe stared at me.
“That was kind of amazing.”
“I’m shaking.”
“You didn’t sound like it.”
“That’s the secret.”
My phone rang again.
Mom.
I declined.
Then again.
Declined.
Then Dad.
I answered.
“Diane called your mother.”
“Of course she did.”
“Linda wants everyone to meet tomorrow.”
“No.”
Dad became quiet.
“You’re not coming?”
“No.”
My own answer surprised me with how easily it arrived.
“She wants to explain.”
“She can write it down.”
“Grace…”
I waited.
Dad stopped himself.
Then I heard him exhale.
“Sorry.”
“For what?”
“I was about to tell you to come because it would make things easier.”
I smiled despite myself.
“That’s progress.”
“I’m staying at the hotel another week.”
“Okay.”
“Your mother started therapy.”
That genuinely surprised me.
“When?”
“Today.”
I looked at Chloe.
She was pretending not to listen.
“Why?”
“I think because nobody is fixing this for her.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Sometimes help meant stepping in.
Sometimes help meant stepping away long enough for someone to discover their own legs.
The next day, Northbridge withdrew its immediate buyout offer.
Not because they gave up.
Because Mrs. Patel’s financing unexpectedly came through.
Ben submitted proof of funds.
Luis and Andrew officially committed.
Five units were now moving toward purchase.
Henderson had leverage again.
I should have felt relieved.
Instead, Friday morning, a notice appeared in the lobby.
BUILDING SAFETY INSPECTION.
All units.
Monday.
Henderson frowned when he saw it.
“I didn’t schedule this.”
Marcus checked the paperwork.
The inspection was legitimate.
A complaint had been filed with the city alleging unsafe electrical work, blocked exits, and unpermitted renovations.
Most claims were nonsense.
But one worried Henderson.
The building’s electrical system was old.
If inspectors demanded extensive upgrades before conversion, costs could explode.
“Who filed it?” I asked.
Anonymous.
Of course.
Monday arrived.
Inspectors spent six hours inside the building.
Tenants stood in hallways waiting.
Northbridge representatives appeared halfway through.
Including Victoria.
She looked unhappy.
“You knew?” I asked.
“No.”
“Do you expect me to believe that?”
“No. But it’s true.”
The inspection found several minor issues.
Then the lead inspector entered the basement.
Twenty minutes later, he came upstairs.
His expression had changed.
“Henderson?”
“Yes?”
“We need to discuss the main electrical panel.”
Everyone went quiet.
“What about it?”
The inspector showed him photographs.
Several breakers had been replaced recently.
Poorly.
Henderson frowned.
“I didn’t authorize that.”
“Who has basement access?”
“Me. My maintenance contractor.”
“And tenants?”
“Not normally.”
The inspector pointed to one section.
“This work is fresh.”
“How fresh?”
“Days. Maybe a week.”
The lobby went silent.
Someone had tampered with the electrical panel.
My stomach turned.
Victoria stepped forward.
“That could have caused a fire.”
The inspector nodded grimly.
“Yes.”
This wasn’t business pressure anymore.
Someone had endangered all of us.
Henderson immediately called police.
The basement was secured.
Marcus pulled me aside.
“Do you still have your hallway camera?”
“Yes.”
“Does it show the service stairwell?”
“Part of it.”
My heart jumped.
I ran upstairs.
Opened the app.
Went back through seven days.
Hour after hour.
Delivery drivers.
Tenants.
Henderson.
Maintenance.
Nothing.
Then Saturday.
2:14 a.m.
A figure entered through the service hallway.
Baseball cap.
Dark jacket.
Face partly hidden.
He moved toward the basement stairs.
Twenty-three minutes later, he came back.
I enlarged the image.
Couldn’t identify him.
Then Chloe, standing behind me, whispered:
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Go back.”
I did.
She pointed.
The man had turned slightly.
A logo showed on his jacket.
White letters.
A company name.
Chloe’s face drained.
“I know that logo.”
“From where?”
She looked at me.
“Ethan.”
My stomach dropped.
“Your boyfriend?”
“Ex-boyfriend.”
“What does he have to do with this?”
Chloe swallowed.
“His uncle owns that contracting company.”
May you like
And then she said the sentence that changed everything.
“Ethan asked me two weeks ago how much this building would be worth empty.”
