Three days passed.
Maya didn't go to the roof. She didn't text Leo. She didn't answer his calls. She let them go to voicemail and didn't listen to the messages.
She watered the garden in the mornings, before the sun got high. She did it quickly. She didn't sit on the milk crate. She didn't look at the building across the alley.
The tomatoes were ripening. The basil was full. The garden didn't need her as much anymore.
She spent her time on the tenant association. She called Vanessa twice a day. She met with Mr. Chen in the lobby. She knocked on doors.
Marco was avoiding her. She could tell. He didn't come to the last two meetings. He didn't answer his door when she knocked.
She left a note under his door: We need to talk. The landlord's offer. Don't make a decision alone.
He didn't respond.
---
On the fourth day, she went to the basement.
Not Leo's basement. The building's basement. The boiler room. She needed to check the pressure gauge. Mr. Chen had asked her to.
The basement was dark. She used her phone flashlight. The boiler hissed. The pipes groaned.
She was reading the gauge when she heard footsteps behind her.
She turned.
Leo stood at the bottom of the stairs. He looked thinner than before. His eyes had dark circles.
"You've been avoiding me," he said.
"You've been lying to me."
"I know." He didn't move closer. "I brought the letter. The one from Franklin Holdings. My resignation."
He held out a folded piece of paper.
Maya didn't take it. "I don't need to see it."
"Then what do you need?"
She looked at him. The boiler hissed. The pipe above them dripped water onto the concrete floor.
"I need to know why you didn't tell me," she said. "That first night on the roof. When you said you were just a neighbor. Why didn't you say you worked for the company trying to evict me?"
Leo was quiet for a long moment. The drip counted seconds.
"Because I was ashamed," he said.
"Of what?"
"Of what I did. I looked at your file. I saw your name. I saw your address. I knew who you were before I ever went to that roof." He looked at the floor. "I went up there because I wanted to see you. Not the file. You."
Maya's chest tightened. "You stalked me."
"I looked at a public record. That's not stalking."
"It's not honest either."
"No." He looked up. "It's not. But I didn't know how to tell you. Every time I tried, the words got stuck."
The pipe dripped again. The boiler hissed.
Maya sat on the concrete steps. She was tired. Tired of being angry. Tired of being afraid. Tired of not knowing what to feel.
"Tell me now," she said. "From the beginning."
Leo sat on the floor across from her. The concrete was wet. He didn't seem to notice.
"I passed the bar five years ago. Couldn't find a job. Law firms wanted experience. I had none." He pulled his knees up to his chest. "Franklin Holdings hired me as a contract reviewer. Low pay. No benefits. But it was a job. I read eviction files. I prepared cash-for-keys offers. I did it for two years."
Maya listened.
"Six months ago, they assigned me to 447 Franklin Avenue. I read the file. I saw the names. Mr. Delgado. Mrs. Patterson. And you. Maya Reyes. 4C. Artist." He paused. "I looked you up online. You had a portfolio. Drawings of the city. Bridges. Gardens. They were good."
"You researched me."
"I was curious. That's all. Then I started walking past your building. Then I started going to the roof. I told myself it was for the drawings. But it wasn't. It was you."
Maya shook her head. "That's not romantic. That's obsessive."
"I know." His voice was quiet. "I know it's not romantic. It's sad. I'm sad. I've been sad for a long time. And then I saw you on the roof, drawing the bridge, and I thought – maybe I don't have to be sad alone."
The pipe dripped. The boiler hissed.
"Why did you quit?" Maya asked.
"Because of the hearing. Because I saw you in that courtroom, standing up to Haddad, and I realized I was on the wrong side." He pulled the letter from his pocket again. "I quit the next day. I don't care if you believe me. It's true."
Maya took the letter. She unfolded it.
To the Management of Franklin Holdings: Please accept this letter as my formal resignation, effective immediately. I am unable to continue my employment due to a conflict of interest. I will not be available for transition or consultation.
It was dated the day after the hearing. Leo's signature at the bottom.
She folded the letter and handed it back.
"You should have told me," she said. "That first night. When I asked who you were."
"I know."
"Instead, you let me find out on my own."
"I know."
She stood up. Her legs were stiff from sitting. "I need time."
"How much time?"
"I don't know."
He nodded. He didn't try to stop her when she walked to the stairs.
---
That night, she went to Mrs. Patterson's apartment.
The old woman was still in the facility. But the apartment was hers now. Maya had a key. She sat at the kitchen table and looked at the tenant list.
Nine signatures. She needed three more.
She called Jasmine. "Can you come to a meeting tomorrow?"
"I work nights. But I can come in the morning."
"10 AM. Mrs. Patterson's apartment."
"I'll be there."
She called Mr. Delgado. He answered on the first ring. "I'll be there."
She called Marco. He didn't answer. She left a voicemail.
Then she sat in the dark and waited for morning.
---
The meeting was small.
Jasmine came in her scrubs. Mr. Delgado came with his cane. Mr. Chen came with a box of donuts. Marco didn't come.
Maya stood in front of them. She looked tired. She knew she looked tired.
"The landlord offered thirty thousand per unit," she said. "Cash for keys. We need to decide how to respond."
Jasmine frowned. "Thirty thousand isn't nothing."
"It's not enough," Mr. Chen said.
"For you, maybe. For me, it's a year's rent somewhere else." Jasmine crossed her arms. "I'm not saying I'm taking it. I'm saying we should think about it."
Mr. Delgado tapped his cane. "I've been here twenty-three years. Thirty thousand is insulting."
"Then what do you want?" Jasmine asked.
"Fifty. At least."
Maya wrote that down. "Fifty thousand. Anything else?"
"A written guarantee that we can stay until we find new places. No rush. No pressure."
Maya added that to the list. "Anything else?"
Mr. Chen raised his hand. "The repairs. The boiler. The windows. They fix everything before anyone leaves."
Maya wrote that down. "I'll take this to Vanessa. She'll help us draft a counter-offer."
Jasmine nodded. Mr. Delgado nodded. Mr. Chen nodded.
Maya looked at the empty chair where Marco should have been.
---
After the meeting, she went to Marco's door.
She knocked. No answer. She knocked again.
"I know you're in there," she said. "I can hear your TV."
The door opened a crack. Marco looked out. His eyes were red.
"What?" he said.
"We had a meeting. You didn't come."
"I'm busy."
"Doing what?"
He opened the door wider. His apartment was small. A mattress on the floor. A TV on a milk crate. Clothes everywhere.
"I got a call," he said. "From Haddad. He offered me forty thousand if I leave early. Before the others."
Maya's stomach dropped. "When?"
"Yesterday."
"Did you take it?"
Marco looked at the floor. "Not yet."
"Don't. We're negotiating together. Fifty thousand minimum."
"He said the offer expires Friday."
"That's illegal. He can't pressure you like that."
"He can do whatever he wants. He's rich. I'm not."
Maya stepped into the apartment. "Listen to me. If you take that deal, you weaken everyone else. Haddad will pick us off one by one."
Marco sat on the mattress. "I don't care about everyone else. I care about me."
"That's not –"
"I'm tired, Maya. I'm tired of being broke. I'm tired of living in a building with no heat. I'm tired of pretending that fighting is going to change anything." He looked at her. "You're an artist. You have something to fight for. I work at a warehouse. I don't have anything."
Maya sat next to him. The mattress sagged.
"You have us," she said. "The building. The people."
"People leave. My father left. My girlfriend left. My boss fired me twice." He shook his head. "I'm not like you. I don't believe in things."
"Then believe in money. Fifty thousand is more than forty."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Friday. If we don't have a counter-offer by Friday, I'm taking his deal."
"We'll have one."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
She left his apartment and went to her room. She called Vanessa.
"We need a counter-offer by Friday," she said. "Fifty thousand per unit. Repairs. No evictions without court order."
"I'll draft it tonight," Vanessa said. "But Maya – fifty thousand is high. He might not go for it."
"Then we negotiate down. But we start high."
"That's not how negotiations work."
"That's how this negotiation works."
Vanessa was quiet. Then she said, "I'll have the letter ready tomorrow."
---
The next morning, Maya went to the facility.
Mrs. Patterson was in her room. The window was open. The brick wall was still there.
"You look worse than last week," Mrs. Patterson said.
"I'm fine."
"You're not. Sit down."
Maya sat on the edge of the bed. She told Mrs. Patterson about Marco. About the forty thousand. About the counter-offer.
Mrs. Patterson listened. When Maya finished, the old woman shook her head.
"He's scared," Mrs. Patterson said. "Scared people do stupid things."
"I know."
"Did you talk to the boy?"
"Leo?"
"Yes. Leo. The one who lied."
Maya looked at her hands. "He quit his job. He showed me the letter."
"And?"
"And I don't know what to feel. Part of me is angry. Part of me understands. Part of me wants to never see him again. Part of me wants to go to the basement right now."
Mrs. Patterson took her hand. "That's called being human. It's messy."
"I don't like messy."
"No one does. But messy is real."
Maya leaned her head on Mrs. Patterson's shoulder. The old woman's shoulder was bony. It smelled like lavender soap.
"What would you do?" Maya asked.
"I'd go to the basement."
"Why?"
"Because he quit his job for you. That's not nothing."
Maya closed her eyes.
---
That afternoon, she went to the basement.
The building next door. The metal door. The padlock that wasn't locked.
She knocked. No answer.
She knocked again. Still no answer.
She opened the door.
The basement was empty.
The mattress was gone. The card table was gone. The mini-fridge was gone. The drawings were gone. The photograph of Leo's mother was gone.
The room was bare concrete. The only thing left was a piece of paper on the floor.
Maya picked it up.
Maya –
I couldn't stay. Not after what I told you. Not with you not speaking to me.
I'm not gone forever. I'm just giving you space.
The painting is on the roof. It's yours. Keep it or throw it away. Either way, it was for you.
— Leo
Maya read the letter three times.
Then she ran.
She ran up the basement stairs. She ran through the alley. She ran up the stairs of her building. Three flights. Four. Five.
She burst through the roof door.
The easel was still there. The painting was still there. Her face, no longer blurred. The garden. The water tank. The painted eye. The small figure in the window.
But Leo wasn't there.
She looked at the building across the alley. The third floor window was closed. The fire escape was empty.
She pulled out her phone and called him.
It went straight to voicemail.
She called again. Voicemail.
She texted: Where are you?
No response.
She texted again: Please. I'm not angry anymore. I just want to talk.
No response.
She sat on the milk crate and waited.
The sun went down. The city lights came on. The garden darkened.
He didn't come.