My grandmother and I moved into Apartment 3B at the historic Fenwick Building three weeks ago, adopting a stray hound named Buster who roamed the alley.
I managed to slip back into our apartment unnoticed, my hand still shaking from the encounter. Six thousand five hundred dollars. Marked. This was hard proof.
Grandma Martha was on the phone with Aunt Sarah, explaining the seizure warrant, her voice tight with worry. I knew I couldn’t tell her about the bribe yet; it would just add to her stress.
But the marked cash confirmed my suspicion: Marcus was trying to push us out, and he was using illegal means to do it. Why?
He must be terrified of something we might uncover in his apartment, or in ours, directly beneath his.
A sudden scratching sound pulled me from my thoughts. Buster, who had been quiet since Pendelton’s visit, was at the back door, whining urgently. His nose was pressed against the bottom crack, sniffing frantically.
“What is it, boy?” I murmured, bending down to pat his head. He ignored me, his tail wagging with a desperate energy.
He wanted out. Badly.
I opened the door, expecting him to make a beeline for the alley, but instead, Buster shot across the small patch of grass in the courtyard. He ran straight for the vintage rosebushes that grew along the far wall, near the base of the sealed chimney.
He began to dig furiously, dirt flying in every direction. His powerful paws ripped through the soft earth, scattering petals and dark soil.
“Buster, no! Stop that, you’ll ruin Mrs. Gable’s roses!” I called out, but he ignored me, his entire concentration on the task.
He dug for what felt like an eternity, grunting with effort. His head disappeared into the hole, then he reappeared, something dark and lumpy clutched firmly in his jaws.
He dropped it at my feet, his tail thumping against the ground, looking up at me expectantly.
It was a small, heavy plastic box, maybe two inches by three. It was wrapped meticulously in thick, black waterproof electrical tape, sealed tight against the elements. Dirt clung to its surface.
My heart hammered again. This felt important.
I picked it up, feeling its weight. It was too dense to be empty. The tape was layered on so carefully, it suggested someone really didn’t want whatever was inside to be found.
I pulled at a loose edge of the electrical tape, peeling it back slowly. Beneath the layers, a small, metallic flash caught the light.
It was a cloud SIM card, embedded in a tiny circuit board. A data card, designed to store information and connect to networks.
Someone had buried this here, right at the base of the chimney, where Buster’s shadow had pointed just hours earlier. And they’d done it with extreme care to protect it from the elements.
This wasn’t just any card. This was a secret. And Buster, once again, had found it.
More Stories
+ There are no comments
Add yours