I Returned From a 14-Hour Shift to Find My Political Landlord Partying in My Rent-Paid Apartment While My Pregnant Wife Scrubbed Floors — Then His Assistant Showed Me the Hidden Trust Deed
My hand froze on the elevator call button. Harrison’s words echoed in my ears: *clear out your apartment by tomorrow morning.* My mind raced, trying to find a way out of the trap he’d sprung.
The elevator doors hissed open. I stepped inside, my shoulders slumped.
Just as the doors began to close, a hand shot out, stopping them. Nora Montgomery, Harrison’s chief executive assistant, slipped inside. She was pale, her usually neat bun slightly askew.
She avoided my gaze, pressing the button for the ground floor. The doors closed, sealing us in the small, metal box. The elevator began its slow descent.
“Mr. Reed,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the low hum of the machinery. Her eyes darted to the security camera in the corner.
I leaned in, my heart pounding. “Nora? What’s wrong?”
“He ordered me to purge them,” she said, her voice strained, her hands twisting her purse strap. “This morning. All historical deed records for this building from the council building archive. Anything pre-1990.”
My blood ran cold. He knew. He absolutely knew the 1978 trust deed was real. He wasn’t laughing it off anymore; he was actively trying to erase it.
“He specifically mentioned the ‘Reed Trust’ files,” Nora added, her eyes now meeting mine, wide with a mix of fear and desperation. “I couldn’t get rid of everything, not all of it. Some are archived off-site, but he’s trying to make them disappear from the immediate access points.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, my voice hushed. “Harrison will fire you. He’ll ruin you.”
She shook her head, a tremor passing through her. “I… I can’t watch it anymore. Not after what he did to your wife last night. Making her clean, barefoot, in the cold. And now this eviction notice, when Clara is so close to giving birth.”
Her gaze dropped, full of shame. “He’s a monster. I’ve been with him for years, I’ve seen a lot, but this…”
The elevator reached the ground floor. The doors opened, revealing the brightly lit lobby, now empty except for the doorman polishing a brass railing.
Nora hesitated, then quickly pulled a small, folded piece of paper from her pocket. She pressed it into my hand as she stepped out.
“My personal number,” she whispered, her eyes pleading. “I can’t talk at the office. Don’t call me unless it’s urgent. But… I can’t let Clara suffer another night without proper heating.”
She walked away quickly, her sensible shoes clicking softly on the marble floor. I looked down at the paper in my hand. It had her name, Nora Montgomery, and a handwritten phone number. Her last words hung in the air: *another night without proper heating.*
I had mentioned nothing to her about the heating. How did she know?
More Stories
+ There are no comments
Add yours