She had said, half joking, “When they finally push you too far, call me before you call them.”
At 8:04 a.m., I called.
She picked up on the second ring.
I told her everything in the same flat voice I used during shift report. The family chat. The Memorial Day messages. The unknown Wi-Fi access. The cigarette butts. The receipt. The planned twenty-person weekend. The line from my mother about flowers in the main bedroom.
Soraya listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she said, “Arden, I need you to answer one question before I advise you.”
“Okay.”
“Do you want to scare them, or do you want to end this?”
I looked around my kitchen at the white cabinets I had painted myself over three weekends. I looked at the little blue bowl on the counter where I kept my keys. I looked at the lake through the windows, flat and silver under the morning sky.
