Chapter 6 - Apartment 3C
North Harbor Property Services was not a landlord.
It was a storage company.
Malcolm discovered that in thirty seconds.
The monthly payment covered a climate-controlled unit less than four miles from their apartment.
Unit 3C.
Rented in Tasha’s name.
Paid automatically from their joint checking account.
Malcolm held up the screen.
“What’s in the storage unit?”
Tasha sat down.
“Personal things.”
“Whose?”
“Mine.”
“Then why am I paying for it?”
“We both are.”
“Don’t play with words.”
“I’m not.”
“Eighteen months. Nearly seven thousand dollars.”
“It isn’t seven.”
“Six thousand nine hundred thirty.”
Tasha looked toward Andre.
“Could you leave?”
Andre laughed.
“No.”
Malcolm spoke without looking at him.
“Actually, yeah.”
Andre frowned.
“Malcolm.”
“I need ten minutes.”
His brother hesitated, then nodded.
“I’ll be outside.”
When the door closed, Malcolm faced Tasha.
“What’s in 3C?”
She rubbed her hands together.
“Furniture.”
“What furniture?”
“My grandmother’s.”
“You told me your cousin took your grandmother’s furniture.”
“Some of it.”
“What else?”
“Boxes.”
“Of?”
“Documents.”
Malcolm stared at her.
“What documents?”
Tasha’s breathing changed.
He recognized the pattern now.
She stalled whenever she needed time to build a version of the truth.
“Tasha.”
“Old paperwork.”
“Mine?”
“Some.”
He felt the floor shift again.
“What paperwork of mine?”
She began crying.
Malcolm did not move.
“I kept things.”
“What things?”
“Letters. Files.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t want them here.”
“What letters?”
She stood.
“If I tell you, you’re going to assume the worst.”
“I’m past assuming.”
“It isn’t what you think.”
“Then tell me what to think.”
Tasha wiped her face.
“When we moved into this apartment, you had boxes from your old place.”
“Yes.”
“You never opened half of them.”
“So?”
“There were career documents. Old notebooks. Contacts.”
Malcolm stared.
“You stored my boxes?”
“Some.”
“Without telling me?”
“They were clutter.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I needed space.”
“That is also a lie.”
He reached for his keys.
“Where’s the storage key?”
Tasha stepped between him and the entry table.
“Malcolm.”
“Move.”
“I don’t want you going there like this.”
He lowered his voice.
“You are not stopping me from accessing something I’ve been paying for that contains my property.”
“I can go with you.”
“No.”
“The account is in my name.”
“Then cancel it and bring my things back.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s more than your things.”
“What?”
Tasha pressed her lips together.
Malcolm suddenly noticed the apartment keys on the counter.
Beside them was a smaller brass key he had never seen.
He picked it up.
Tasha moved instantly.
“Give me that.”
Malcolm stepped away.
“This?”
“That isn’t yours.”
“Storage?”
She said nothing.
He opened the door.
Andre was leaning against the hallway wall.
“We’re going somewhere.”
Tasha followed.
“Malcolm, please.”
He turned.
“You can come.”
Her face registered surprise.
“But you don’t touch anything.”
The drive took eleven minutes.
No one spoke.
North Harbor Storage sat behind a strip mall, its rows of metal doors hidden behind a coded gate.
Tasha entered the code.
Andre noticed.
“So you’ve been here recently.”
Tasha ignored him.
Unit 3C was on the second floor.
Malcolm inserted the brass key.
Tasha touched his wrist.
“Whatever you see, understand that I was trying to keep our life together.”
Malcolm pulled his hand away.
“That sentence doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.”
He opened the door.
At first, the unit looked ordinary.
Two chairs.
A lamp.
Boxes labeled TASHA FAMILY.
An old dresser.
Then Malcolm saw the rear wall.
Five plastic storage bins were stacked there.
His handwriting appeared on two.
MALCOLM — OFFICE
MALCOLM — RECORDS
He walked toward them.
The first contained old books and certificates.
The second contained tax records, employment evaluations and notebooks.
He lifted a folder.
Inside was a recommendation letter from Marcus Hale.
Another document underneath showed Malcolm had been nominated for an internal leadership program four years earlier.
He had never seen it.
“Tasha.”
“I found that after we moved.”
“Why didn’t you give it to me?”
“The program had already passed.”
“So?”
“It didn’t matter anymore.”
“It mattered to me.”
Andre opened another box.
“Malcolm.”
He held up a sealed envelope.
The return address belonged to Grantham Distribution.
Malcolm took it.
The envelope had been opened carefully and resealed with clear tape.
Inside was a printed copy of the same job offer he had found in email.
Along with something else.
A relocation packet.
And a handwritten card.
Malcolm, Marcus spoke highly of you. We hope you’ll join us. Your future here could be significant.
Malcolm stared at the card.
Tasha whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Andre looked around the unit.
“This is a museum.”
Malcolm understood what he meant.
The room contained evidence of alternate lives.
A conference badge Malcolm had believed lost.
A certification brochure.
Business cards.
A notebook full of names he once intended to contact.
Things removed quietly enough that he had eventually stopped searching.
Then Andre pulled a white envelope from behind the dresser.
“Tasha Reed.”
Tasha rushed toward him.
“Don’t.”
Andre stopped.
The return address read:
RIVERTON RESIDENTIAL MANAGEMENT
Malcolm recognized the company.
They managed his apartment building.
Andre handed him the envelope.
Inside was a lease document.
Malcolm skimmed it.
Renewal term: eighteen months.
Start date: the following month.
Tenant signatures:
Tasha Reed.
Malcolm Reed.
He stared at his own name.
The signature looked exactly like his.
Because it was his digital signature.
Copied from something else.
Malcolm looked up.
“We didn’t renew.”
Tasha was crying now.
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“The lease isn’t active yet.”
“You signed my name.”
“You told me you wanted to stay.”
“I said I hadn’t decided.”
“You were waiting to hear from Bellweather.”
There it was.
The entire mechanism, suddenly visible.
She had renewed the lease because the job might change where he wanted to live.
She had canceled the interview because the job might change the relationship.
She had moved the savings because discovering the truth might allow him to leave.
Malcolm folded the lease carefully.
His anger became frighteningly calm.
“Tasha.”
She looked at him.
“Did you sign anything else in my name?”
“No.”
He watched her.
She looked down.
Andre muttered, “Here we go.”
Malcolm stepped closer.
“What else?”
Tasha whispered, “There was one form.”
“What form?”
She shook her head.
“Tasha.”
“A beneficiary form.”
Malcolm’s stomach dropped.
“For what?”
She closed her eyes.
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And when she answered, Malcolm finally understood that the deepest part of her control had not been about keeping him unsuccessful.
It had been about making herself impossible to remove from his future.
