Friday morning, Maya woke to the sound of someone knocking on her door.
Not Leo's knock. This one was faster. More impatient.
She sat up and rubbed her face. The clock on her phone said 7:15 AM.
She opened the door.
Mr. Chen stood in the hallway. His face was pale.
"Someone put a notice on every door," he said. "The building is being shown to a buyer this afternoon."
Maya's stomach dropped. "What time?"
"Two o'clock. The landlord sent a text to everyone with a phone. The others got papers."
She stepped into the hallway. Sure enough, a white sheet of paper was taped to her door. She pulled it off and read.
Notice of Property Showing – 447 Franklin Avenue. Potential buyer will tour the building on Friday, 2:00 PM. Tenants are not required to leave, but cooperation is appreciated.
"Cooperation is appreciated," Maya said. "That's a joke."
Mr. Chen shook his head. "They want us to smile while they sell our homes."
She looked at the notice. There was no phone number. No email address. Just the name of the management company. Franklin Holdings.
"We need to talk to the tenants," she said. "Before the showing."
"I already started. Mr. Delgado is angry. Jasmine is at work. Marco said he'll be here."
"Let's meet in Mrs. Patterson's apartment. Ten o'clock."
Mr. Chen nodded and went back downstairs.
---
Maya showered quickly. The water pressure was worse than usual. She dressed in jeans and a sweater. Then she grabbed the folder with the tenant association letters.
Six signatures. She needed more.
At 9:45, she went to Mrs. Patterson's apartment. Mr. Chen was already there, setting up chairs. Marco arrived a few minutes later, carrying a box of donuts.
"From the bakery on Franklin," he said. "Figured we might need sugar."
Maya set out the letters. "We need to decide what to say to the buyer."
"Say?" Marco frowned. "We're not supposed to talk to them."
"We're not supposed to do anything. That doesn't mean we can't."
Mr. Delgado arrived at 10:05, leaning on his cane. He sat down heavily. "What's the plan?"
Maya looked at the three faces. Mr. Chen. Marco. Mr. Delgado. Four people. Not enough.
"The plan," she said, "is to be in the hallway when the buyer comes. Not aggressive. Just present. Let them see us. Let them know we're not ghosts."
"That's it?" Mr. Delgado asked. "We just stand there?"
"For now. Vanessa said documentation is key. We need to record who comes, what they say, how they act. If the landlord tries to push us out illegally, we need proof."
Mr. Chen nodded. "I'll take photos. Discreetly."
Marco leaned back in his chair. "What if they offer us money? Cash for keys?"
"Then we listen. But we don't agree to anything on the spot. We take the offer to Vanessa."
Mr. Delgado tapped his cane on the floor. "I've been here twenty-three years. They'd have to give me a lot of money."
"Then you're in a good position," Maya said. "But we have to stay together. No one takes a deal without telling the rest of us."
They agreed.
---
At 1:30 PM, Maya stood in the lobby.
She'd texted Leo earlier. The building is being shown at 2. I'm nervous.
His response: I'll be in the alley. Text me if you need me.
You don't have to do that.
I know.
Now she waited. Mr. Chen stood by the mailboxes, pretending to sort through papers. Marco leaned against the wall, scrolling on his phone. Mr. Delgado sat on a chair someone had brought down from his apartment.
At 1:55, a black car pulled up outside.
A man got out. Late forties. Grey suit. Expensive shoes. He was carrying a leather portfolio. Behind him, a woman in a blue dress. Younger. Blonde. She held a tablet.
They walked to the front door. The man tried the handle. It was locked.
Maya stepped forward and opened it.
"Hello," she said.
The man looked at her. "Hi. We're here for the showing."
"I know. I'm Maya. I live in 4C."
He nodded but didn't introduce himself. He walked past her into the lobby. The woman followed.
Mr. Chen looked up from the mailboxes. "Can I help you?"
"Just looking," the man said.
He walked to the stairs and started climbing. The woman stayed close behind.
Maya followed.
---
The man stopped on the second floor landing. He looked at the walls. The paint was peeling. The light fixture was cracked.
"Needs work," he said to the woman. She typed something on her tablet.
They went up to the third floor. Mrs. Patterson's door. The man tried the handle. It was locked.
"Do you have a key?" he asked Maya.
"It's not my apartment."
"The super?"
Mr. Chen had followed them up. He shook his head. "Mrs. Patterson is in a facility. I can't open her door without her permission."
The man frowned. He wrote something in his portfolio.
They went up to the fourth floor. Maya's door. He didn't try to open it. He just looked at the number.
"How many units are occupied?" he asked.
"All but one," Maya said.
"Any problems? Pests? Leaks?"
"Nothing that can't be fixed."
The man looked at her. It was a long look. Measuring. "You're organized."
"I'm a tenant."
He nodded. Then he went up to the fifth floor. Jasmine's door. No one answered. The sixth floor. The Parkers' door. No answer.
On the way down, the man stopped on the second floor landing again. He turned to Maya.
"The building has potential," he said. "But it needs a lot of work. New plumbing. New electrical. New windows."
"That costs money."
"Yes. Which is why the asking price is lower than market." He paused. "If we buy, we'll be offering cash for keys to all tenants. Generous offers. Enough to move."
Maya kept her face neutral. "How generous?"
The woman with the tablet spoke for the first time. "That would be negotiated individually."
Mr. Chen stepped forward. "We're a tenant association. Any offers go through us."
The man raised an eyebrow. "Is that legal?"
"Tenants have the right to organize," Maya said. "It's in the city code."
The man looked at her for a long moment. Then he smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile. "I'll keep that in mind."
He walked out the front door. The woman followed. The black car drove away.
Maya exhaled.
---
She went back to Mrs. Patterson's apartment and sat down. Her hands were shaking.
Mr. Chen came in. Marco followed. Mr. Delgado lowered himself into a chair.
"You did good," Mr. Chen said.
"I didn't do anything."
"You stood your ground. That's something."
Marco opened the box of donuts. No one ate.
"The buyer," Mr. Delgado said. "What did you think of him?"
"Slick," Maya said. "He knew what he was doing."
"They always do," Mr. Chen said.
Maya pulled out her phone. She texted Leo: It's over. They left.
How did it go?
He was professional. Cold. Mentioned cash for keys.
Did he threaten anyone?
No. But he didn't have to.
Are you okay?
She looked at the word. Okay. She wasn't sure what that meant anymore.
I'm fine, she typed. Tired.
Come to the basement.
She frowned. What?
The basement. Building next door. I'll show you.
Why?
Because you need to see it. And I need to show someone.
She thought about it. Then she stood up. "I have to go."
Mr. Chen nodded. "We'll clean up."
She walked out.
---
The basement door was around the back of the building next door.
Maya had never been here before. The alley was narrow. The door was metal, painted grey, with a padlock that wasn't locked. She knocked.
Leo opened it.
He looked different in the daylight. Older. Thinner. His eyes had shadows under them.
"Come in," he said.
The basement was one room. Concrete floor. Concrete walls. A single window near the ceiling, too small to climb through. A desk lamp on a card table. A mattress in the corner. A cardboard box of art supplies. A hot plate. A mini-fridge.
It was clean. It was organized. It was a cell.
Maya stood in the middle of the room. "This is where you live."
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"Fourteen months."
She looked at the walls. No photos. No posters. Nothing personal except the drawings. He'd taped some of them to the concrete – the cat on the windowsill, the woman on the subway, the man sleeping on the bus.
"You drew all these here?"
"In the building. On the third floor. In the empty unit." He sat on the edge of the mattress. "I bring them down here at night."
She walked to the card table. A sketchbook was open. A drawing of her garden. New one. The tomatoes were standing straight. The basil had new leaves.
"You drew this yesterday," she said.
"Yes."
"You saw me watering."
"I saw the garden. You were there."
She turned to look at him. He didn't look away.
"Why did you bring me here?" she asked.
"Because I'm tired of lying. Even by omission." He spread his hands. "This is my life. This is where I sleep. This is where I draw. This is what I have."
"It's not nothing."
"I know. But it's not much."
She sat on the floor across from him. The concrete was cold.
"Thank you for showing me," she said.
He nodded.
They sat in silence. The only sound was the hum of the mini-fridge.