destroy my rent money.”

David’s mouth tightened.

“Your rent money? Who helped you when your car broke down?”

“My tips paid you back.”

“Who stayed with you when your mom got sick?”

Norah flinched, and she hated him for noticing.

Roman’s voice cut through the hall.

“Envelope.”

David’s jaw worked.

“You don’t know anything about us.”

“I know you are holding property that is not yours inside a building where you were told not to enter.”

David looked around, measuring the room and finally understanding that charm would not carry him through it.

He turned back to Norah.

“You walk out with me right now,” he said quietly, “or I tell your landlord you keep cash tips off the books.”

Norah went still.

It was not true in the way he meant it.

She claimed her tips.

She had the boring tax folder in her closet to prove it.

But David did not need truth.

He needed fear.

A landlord already annoyed with late rent might not care about the difference tonight.

Roman looked at her, not David.

“Is that the best he has?”

The question should have sounded dismissive.

Somehow it made Norah breathe.

She turned fully toward David.

“You’re going to give me the envelope,” she said.

“Then you’re going to leave.

Tomorrow, I’m changing the locks.

Your stuff will be in bags with Mrs.

Alvarez downstairs, because she has a door camera and no patience.”

David stared at her as if she had spoken another language.

“You can’t do that.”

“I can.”

“You need me.”

Norah almost laughed.

The phrase was so old it had lost its teeth.

“No,” she said.

“I got used to you.

That’s different.”

For one second, David’s face showed the thing beneath everything else: panic.

Then he threw the envelope.

Not to her.

At the floor.

It hit the concrete and burst open.

Bills slid across the service hall, skidding beneath the harsh overhead lights.

Norah moved without thinking, dropping to her knees to grab them before anyone stepped on them.

Humiliation surged up her throat, but another pair of hands appeared beside hers.

Roman Gallagher crouched in his charcoal suit and picked up a twenty from beside his polished shoe.

Nobody spoke.

He gathered the bills calmly, without ceremony, and handed them to Norah as if returning a dropped napkin.

The gesture was small.

That was why it unsettled her.

David saw it too.

His face twisted.

“You think this means something?” he spat.

Norah stood with the money clutched in both hands.

“It means I’m done.”

Roman rose beside her.

“Eli, walk Mr.

David outside.”

David laughed once, harsh and ugly.

“Mr.

David.

That’s cute.”

Eli took one step.

David backed up.

“I’m leaving,” David snapped.

“Nobody touches me.”

“No one wants to,” Eli said.

That somehow insulted him more than a shove would have.

David pointed at Norah.

“You’ll come home.”

Norah folded the bills back into the torn envelope.

Her hands were still shaking, but her voice was not.

“No, David.

I won’t.”

He waited for the old fear to pull her after him.

It did not.

Security opened the back door.

Cold air slid into the hall.

David looked smaller in it, all gray hoodie and empty threats, and then he was outside.

The door shut behind