"Someone lives there now," the young woman observed.
"A short-term complication," Richard replied. "Nothing for a buyer to worry about."
Eleanor kept walking. Her chest was sore, and she had no energy for an argument. Richard followed them to their car, photographing the number plate while talking loudly about verifying authorized vehicles. He positioned his Mercedes so close to the Honda that James could not pull out without risking a collision. Then he took a call and remained standing beside the car for nearly twenty minutes.
James put down his window. "Please move your vehicle."
"I'm conducting property business."
"You're blocking our exit."
"There's a street full of room. You'll survive a few minutes."
Eleanor watched her husband grip the steering wheel. She knew the particular stiffness of a man fighting an old instinct to confront disrespect physically. James had been the first Black engineer on one of his early bridge projects, and he had spent years being told that his calculations were wrong until a colleague repeated them. He learned to keep records, let the figures stand, and choose battles worth having. But watching his wife struggle for breath while the man responsible played games with their car tested every lesson.
Eventually Richard moved. James did not accelerate angrily or shout after him. He drove home slowly and parked behind the building, then sat with Eleanor while her breathing settled. She wrote the incident in her notebook later that night, including the urgent-care visit and the names of the witnesses she could identify. At the top of the page, she wrote one private sentence she did not intend to show a lawyer: "I am beginning to fear the place I love."
Monday brought the police. Two officers arrived shortly after nine with an anonymous report alleging suspicious activity and possible drug dealing at the apartment. Eleanor stared at the younger officer, uncertain whether she had heard correctly. The woman who once supervised pediatric operations was being asked whether strangers were entering her home to exchange narcotics.
Officer Carter, the older of the two, seemed embarrassed by the report. He explained that they were there to assess the complaint, not to accuse her, and asked whether she would answer some questions. Eleanor agreed to talk but did not invite a search of her private belongings. James produced copies of the lease and identification, and the officers found no observations supporting the allegation. Carter took notes, apologized for the disturbance, and advised them that false reports could be investigated if a pattern emerged.
"A pattern has emerged," Eleanor said quietly. She handed him the first pages of her log. "We have had construction, lost heat, false lease notices, a lock change without notice, and an unauthorized entry. Now someone says we're selling drugs."