December arrived with grey skies and cold rain.
Maya stood at her window, watching the water stream down the glass. The radiator hissed. The room was warm enough. But she felt cold anyway.
The developer's representative had come back three times. Each time, the offer went up. Forty-five thousand. Fifty thousand. Fifty-five thousand.
Each time, Maya said no.
But the pressure was building. Marco had started smoking again – she could smell it on his clothes. Jasmine had bags under her eyes. Mr. Delgado had stopped coming to meetings.
"He's scared," Mr. Chen said. "We're all scared."
"I know."
"The developer is going to keep pushing. They have money. We don't."
Maya looked at the tenant list on her desk. Twelve names. Twelve people who had signed the petition. But signatures didn't pay rent. Signatures didn't fix broken windows.
"Vanessa is filing another motion," Maya said. "To delay the sale."
"How long?"
"A few weeks."
"And then?"
Maya didn't answer.
---
She went to the roof.
The garden was gone. The buckets were stacked in the corner. The stakes were tied in a bundle. The easel was covered with a plastic sheet.
Leo was there, standing by the water tank. He was looking at the painted eye.
"Someone touched it up," he said.
"What?"
"The eye. The paint is fresher than before."
Maya walked to the tank. He was right. The blue iris was brighter. The black pupil was sharper.
"Who would do that?" she asked.
"I don't know."
They stood in silence. The rain had stopped. The clouds were still grey.
"Maya."
"Yeah."
"The developer called me. They offered me a job."
She turned to look at him. "What?"
"They know about my background. My law degree. My time at Franklin Holdings. They want me to help with the evictions."
"Did you say yes?"
"No." He looked at her. "I told them to never call me again."
She exhaled. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me. I'm not a monster."
"I know."
He took her hand. "But they're not going to stop. They want this building. They'll do whatever it takes."
"Then we do whatever it takes to stay."
---
That afternoon, Maya went to the facility.
Mrs. Patterson was in her room. The window was closed. The brick wall was hidden by a curtain.
"You look tired," Mrs. Patterson said.
"I'm fine."
"You're not. Sit down."
Maya sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress was thin. The sheets were rough.
"The developer offered fifty-five thousand," Maya said. "Per unit."
"That's a lot of money."
"It's not enough."
Mrs. Patterson took her hand. "You're fighting a war you can't win."
"Maybe. But I'm not going to surrender."
The old woman was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "I had a dream about Henry last night."
Maya waited.
"He was young. We were young. We were in the apartment, the one on Franklin. The windows were open. The sun was coming in." Mrs. Patterson's voice was soft. "He said to me, 'Eleanor, don't let them take the light.'"
"What did he mean?"
"I don't know. But I think he meant the building. The home we built."
Maya squeezed her hand. "I won't let them take it."
"You can't promise that."
"I can try."
---
That night, Maya couldn't sleep.
She lay on her mattress, staring at the ceiling crack. The river. She had followed it so many times.
Her phone buzzed.
Leo: Are you awake?
Yes.
Me neither.
What are you doing?
Looking at the painting. The one of you.
Why?
Because I'm scared of losing you.
She sat up. Her heart beat faster.
You're not going to lose me.
The building might be sold. You might have to move. We might end up in different places.
Then we'll move together.
A long pause.
You mean that?
Yes.
Another pause.
I love you, he wrote.
I love you too.
She put the phone down and lay back. The ceiling crack stared at her. She closed her eyes.
---
The next morning, Vanessa called.
"Bad news," the lawyer said. "The judge denied the motion to delay the sale. The building can be sold as early as January."
Maya sat on the mattress. "January? That's next month."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"What do we do?"
"We negotiate. The developer wants the building. They'll have to deal with the tenants. Use that leverage."
"How?"
"Demand more money. Demand relocation assistance. Demand first right of refusal on new units."
"That's a lot."
"It's a starting point."
Maya hung up. She went to find Mr. Chen.
He was in the basement, checking the boiler. The patch was holding. The pressure gauge was steady.
"The sale can happen in January," she said.
Mr. Chen looked at her. "That's soon."
"I know."
"What's the plan?"
"We negotiate. Hard."
He nodded slowly. "Then let's negotiate."
---
They called a tenant meeting.
The same kitchen table. The same folding chairs. But the faces were different. Tired. Worried.
Maya stood in front of them. "The building can be sold in January. We have about six weeks."
Marco raised his hand. "What happens to us?"
"We negotiate. We demand cash for keys. Relocation assistance. First right of refusal on new units."
Jasmine frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means if they build condos, we get first chance to buy them at a discount."
"That's never going to happen."
"Then we demand something else."
Mr. Delgado tapped his cane. "I've been here twenty-three years. I want enough money to move somewhere nice. Somewhere with an elevator."
Maya wrote that down. "Anything else?"
Mr. Chen raised his hand. "The boiler. The windows. The plumbing. They fix everything before anyone leaves."
"That's already on the list."
"Put it again."
She wrote it again.
---
After the meeting, Maya went to the roof.
Leo was there. He was painting the water tank. The eye stared back at her.
"You're obsessed with that eye," she said.
"It's interesting. Someone painted it. Someone cares about this building."
"Maybe it was a kid."
"Maybe it was a ghost."
She almost smiled. "You don't believe in ghosts."
"I believe in things I can't explain."
She stood next to him. The sky was grey. The city hummed.
"January," she said.
"I know."
"I'm scared."
"I know."
He set down his brush. He took her hand.
"We'll get through it," he said.
"How do you know?"
"Because we have to."
---
That night, she visited Mrs. Patterson.
The old woman was in bed. The lights were dim. The game show was off.
"The building can be sold in January," Maya said.
Mrs. Patterson looked at her. "Then January is when you fight."
"I'm tired of fighting."
"I know. But you're not done yet."
Maya lay down next to her on the bed. The mattress was narrow. Their shoulders touched.
"Tell me about Henry," Maya said.
Mrs. Patterson was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "He was a mailman. Walked the same route for thirty years. Knew everyone's name. Everyone's dog. Everyone's problems."
"He sounds like a good man."
"He was. But he was stubborn. Like you." She paused. "He died in that apartment. In our bed. I was holding his hand."
Maya's throat tightened. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. He had a good life. A long life. That's all any of us can ask for."
They lay in silence. The clock ticked. The building settled.
"Mrs. P."
"Yeah."
"I love you."
The old woman squeezed her hand. "I love you too, kid."