Chapter 3 - The Building Manager
I watched the screen with bated breath, feeling as though I were watching a high-stakes standoff through a sniper scope.
Diego stopped five paces away from the chaotic encampment outside my door. His dark eyes methodically scanned the scene: the three sprawling Samsonite bags, the leaning tower of winter coats, the half-eaten bag of pretzel sticks Oliver had now spilled across the carpet, and the enraged matriarch standing with her fists still pressed against Unit 4B.
“Excuse me,” Diego’s deep, measured voice boomed down the corridor. “Can I help you folks with something?”
Linda whipped around, instantly donning her grand dame persona like a cheap theater cloak. Her furious scowl smoothed out into a practiced, aristocratic smile that reeked of condescension.
“Oh, thank goodness! Are you the building manager?” Linda asked, stepping forward with her chin raised. “We’ve been trying to get my daughter to open the door for twenty minutes. She’s clearly fallen asleep or had an accident inside. We need you to unlock Unit 4B immediately. We have small children and our bags have been in the cold.”
Diego didn't budge. His hands remained clasped behind his back, a posture of absolute, unyielding authority.
“Are you registered on the lease for Unit 4B, ma'am?” he asked calmly.
“I am her *mother*,” Linda said, emphasizing the word as though it carried the weight of a supreme court ruling. “This is her brother, her sister-in-law, and her nieces and nephew. We are family. We’ve come for the Christmas holidays.”
Diego glanced at the pile of luggage, his eyebrow ticking upward by a fraction of a millimeter. “That wasn't my question, ma'am. Are you on the lease?”
“Of course I’m not on the lease, don’t be ridiculous,” Linda huffed, her patience visibly fracturing. “My daughter owns this unit. And she is expecting us. Now, please, use your master key and open the door. We have cold groceries downstairs.”
“Miss Bennett did not submit an extended guest authorization form,” Diego stated, his voice flat, professional, and entirely unimpressed. “Furthermore, our building bylaws strictly prohibit unattended baggage in common hallways due to Denver fire codes. And per Miss Bennett’s explicit, standing security instructions on file with management, absolutely no one is permitted access to her unit without prior written authorization from her verified email.”
Jason stepped forward, chest puffed out, trying to use his height to intimidate the former Marine. It was a laughably terrible tactical decision.
“Listen, pal,” Jason sneered. “My sister is a software nerd who probably has her noise-canceling headphones glued to her ears. She’s inside. If something is wrong with her—if she slipped in the shower or passed out—and you refuse to open that door, my family will hold this building management company personally liable. Do your job and open the door.”
Diego didn't blink. He didn't even shift his footing. He simply pulled a slim company iPad from his jacket pocket.
“Sir, if you raise your voice in this hallway one more time, I will have the Denver Police Department escort you from the premises for trespassing and disturbing the peace,” Diego said with chilling tranquility. “Now, please step away from Miss Bennett’s door while I contact the resident directly.”
My phone in Nassau vibrated immediately.
This time, the caller ID showed:
**[Diego Morales – Foundry Concierge]**
I took a deep breath, stood up from my lounge chair, and walked away from the pool toward the secluded privacy of the palm grove.
I swiped green.
“Hello, Diego,” I said, keeping my voice as calm and steady as I could manage.
“Miss Bennett,” Diego said, his tone instantly shifting to warm, respectful professionalism. “Good afternoon. I apologize for interrupting your afternoon. I’m currently standing outside Unit 4B. There is a group of individuals here claiming to be your mother, brother, and extended family, demanding entry to your residence. They have brought an extraordinary amount of personal property into the common hallway.”
Through the phone, I could faintly hear Linda’s shrill voice in the background: *“Is that her? Give me that phone! Riley, tell this man to open the door!”*
“I am watching the entire scene on my doorbell camera, Diego,” I replied evenly.
Diego paused. “Understood. And what are your instructions, Miss Bennett? Are they authorized guests?”
I looked out at the turquoise sea, watching the sunlight dance across the water. A sudden, overwhelming sense of clarity washed over me. For years, I had bent myself backward to absorb their chaos, to smooth their paths, to be the cushion they landed on when their poor choices brought them crashing down.
Not today.
“Diego,” I said clearly, ensuring my voice was firm enough to carry through the microphone. “I am currently out of the country on vacation. I will not be returning to Denver until after the New Year. I did not invite them. I did not give them permission to be there. And under no circumstances are they to be given access to my apartment.”
A brief, heavy silence fell over the line.
May you like
“Copy that, Miss Bennett,” Diego said, a distinct note of quiet satisfaction coloring his words. “Enjoy your vacation. I will handle the situation from here.”
***
