Chapter 8: The Nervous Intern

The dead end with Ms. Albright’s assistant only fueled my desperation. There had to be someone at Elite Properties who could give me real answers, someone not so tightly controlled. I needed to circumvent the gatekeepers Chloe had seemingly put in place. I went back to the Elite Properties website, determined to try every number, every extension, until I found a crack in the wall.

This time, I tried the general inquiry line again, but instead of asking for application status, I asked to speak to anyone handling the “Rodriguez Panadería account.” I was hoping to catch someone off guard, someone less rehearsed in the company’s evasive tactics. After another infuriating round of automated menus and hold music, a young, uncertain voice finally answered.

“Elite Properties, Liam speaking. How can I help you?”

His voice was different from the previous agents – less polished, a little nervous, as if he was new to the job. Hope flickered.

“Hi, Liam,” I said, trying to sound as friendly and non-threatening as possible. “My name is Maya Rodriguez. I’m calling about our application for the adjacent unit, for the cultural center. We’ve been having some trouble getting clarity on our file, and our loan was just delayed because of missing documents.”

I spoke slowly, clearly, detailing the confusion about the “incomplete” letter versus Sarah’s statement that everything was “in order.” I mentioned Chloe Davis, hoping to gauge his reaction.

Liam was silent for a moment, then I heard the rapid click of a keyboard. “Rodriguez Panadería,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Let me see… Ah, yes, I see the file.”

He paused again, and I held my breath. “It says here… the file is listed as complete now. But there are a lot of notes.” His voice sounded hesitant, as if he was reading something unusual.

“Notes?” I prompted, trying to encourage him. “What kind of notes? My family is really stressed about this. We just want to understand what happened.”

He took a deep breath. “Well, it’s just a bit… odd. It says here that some papers on the Rodriguez file went missing for a few days. Like, completely disappeared from the digital portal and the physical folder.”

My heart leaped into my throat. Missing? Physically gone? This was it. This was the proof I needed.

“And then,” Liam continued, his voice lowering, “they reappeared with some really odd handwritten notes on them. Like, little scribbles, almost doodles, next to signatures. And some dates that just… don’t quite line up.”

He trailed off, his voice suddenly sounding tight, as if he had just realized he was saying too much. He caught himself, his tone abruptly shifting to one of frantic apology.

“Oh, wait, no, I’m sorry,” he stammered, his words rushing out now. “That’s… that’s internal office stuff. I shouldn’t have mentioned that. It’s just general notes about processing errors, you know. Nothing to worry about. Everything’s in order now, really. Just some minor internal issues.”

He was backpedaling so fast it made my head spin. His initial openness was replaced by a torrent of nervous excuses. The shift was stark, undeniable. It was clear he was afraid.

“What kind of notes, Liam?” I pressed, urgency in my voice. “What kind of doodles? What dates?”

“I really can’t say,” he insisted, his voice now high-pitched and strained. “I’m just an intern. I’m not supposed to share client file details. I’ve already said too much. I’m so sorry, Ms. Rodriguez. You’ll need to speak to Ms. Albright.”

“But you just said the papers went missing!” I exclaimed, my voice rising. “And then they reappeared with odd notes and dates that don’t line up! What does that mean?”

“Please, Ms. Rodriguez, I have to go,” he pleaded, his voice trembling slightly. “I’ll get in trouble. My supervisor is calling me. I can’t… I just can’t say anything more.”

There was a frantic click, and the line went dead. He had hung up on me.

I sat there, the receiver still pressed to my ear, listening to the hollow dial tone. Liam’s words echoed in my mind: “some papers… went missing for a few days, then reappeared with some really odd handwritten notes on them.” And “dates that just don’t quite line up.” It wasn’t just my imagination. It wasn’t just disorganization. Someone, somewhere, had actively tampered with our file.

The relief of finally getting a concrete piece of information was quickly overshadowed by a fresh wave of chilling understanding. Chloe hadn’t merely failed to submit documents; she had orchestrated their disappearance and reappearance, complete with suspicious annotations. This was no longer just incompetence. This was active manipulation. This was sabotage.

Liam’s terrified retreat, his frantic apologies, only confirmed the gravity of what he had revealed. He was scared because he had stumbled upon something he shouldn’t have seen, something someone powerful wanted kept hidden. It was a petty cruelty, the deliberate falsification of our record, designed to make our family look disorganized.

My mind raced, trying to connect the dots. The “typo” in the square footage, the “missing” documents, Chloe’s control over communication, Abuela’s sudden illness, the loan delay. It all pointed to a single, horrifying conclusion. Chloe wasn’t helping us. She was actively working against us. She was trying to destroy our dream from the inside out.

The image of her perfectly composed face, her earnest promises, flashed in my mind. It was a mask, expertly crafted. But Liam, a nervous intern, had accidentally pulled a thread, revealing a glimpse of the sinister design beneath. I had a new, unsettling piece of the puzzle, and it confirmed my worst fears. I now knew I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t just imagining things. There was a conspiracy, and Chloe was at its heart.