What Diane Saw
Chapter 04 - What Diane Saw
Diane's apartment smelled like chamomile and old books, the same comforting scent Grace remembered from the handful of times she'd visited over the years.
Diane poured two cups of tea with steady, practiced hands, settling into the worn armchair across from Grace's spot on the small sofa.
"I've lived in this building for eleven years," Diane began. "I've watched Todd manage it for the last seven of those, since Ashford Group took over from the previous management company."
"Has he always been like this," Grace asked. "Or did something change."
"He's always had a cruel streak," Diane said. "But it got worse once he realized Ashford's absentee owners never actually checked on tenant complaints. He learned there were no real consequences for how he treated people, as long as rent kept coming in on time."
Grace felt something cold settle over her.
"What has he done," she asked. "Specifically. To you."
Diane was quiet for a long moment, staring into her tea.
"Three years ago," she said finally, "I was two days late on rent, recovering from a hip surgery, unable to get to the bank in time. He came to my door, told me elderly tenants like me were 'a liability the building couldn't afford to carry.' Suggested, quite directly, that I consider finding somewhere more 'suited to my needs.'"
Grace's hands tightened around her teacup.
"That's illegal," she said. "That's exactly the kind of harassment tenant protection laws exist to prevent."
"I know," Diane said. "But I didn't know who to tell, or whether anyone would believe an old woman's word against a building manager's. So I just made sure never to be late again, and I stayed quiet."
"You shouldn't have had to manage that alone," Grace said, something fierce rising in her chest.
"Neither should you have had to endure what happened in that hallway today," Diane said gently. "But here we both are."
*Quiet moment: Grace watching Diane's hands, steady around her teacup despite the vulnerability of what she'd just shared, recognizing a particular kind of resilience that comes from surviving something alone for far too long.*
"Has he done this to anyone else you know of," Grace asked.
"I suspect so," Diane said. "There's a young mother on the second floor, Priya, who mentioned something similar happened to her last year, though she was too frightened of retaliation to make a formal complaint. And Mr. Okonkwo, who moved out rather suddenly eight months ago, after some kind of dispute with Todd nobody ever fully explained."
Grace sat back, the fuller shape of what she'd apparently just inherited settling over her.
"I bought this building to protect people," she said quietly. "I didn't fully realize how much protecting might actually be required."
"You're already doing more than anyone else has," Diane said. "Just by asking these questions instead of assuming today was an isolated incident."
Grace nodded slowly, resolve hardening in her chest.
"I want to document all of this properly," she said. "Formally. With an attorney who understands tenant rights. Would you be willing to give a statement, if it came to that?"
Diane considered the question for a long moment, something brave settling into her expression.
"Yes," she said finally. "I think I would. I think it's long past time someone actually listened."
May you like
Grace reached over and squeezed her neighbor's hand, gratitude and resolve intertwining in her chest.
"Then let's make sure someone finally does," she said.
