They found Lena in the management office with the condominium association’s outside accountant.
A thin man named Peter Walsh.
He had three years of financial records open across the conference table.
Evelyn stared.
“If this is about another parking pass, I am moving to a farm.”
Lena did not smile.
“It’s worse.”
Marcus immediately said:
“I should leave.”
Everyone looked at him.
He continued:
“If this relates to potential litigation—”
Evelyn pointed at a chair.
“Sit.”
“Mom.”
“You are here as the person carrying my oranges.”
Marcus looked at the grocery bag.
Peter Walsh almost smiled.
Marcus sat.
Peter turned a spreadsheet around.
“I was hired after the board leadership change.”
“To review security expenditures.”
Lena added:
“Residents wanted to know why we were spending so much on surveillance.”
Peter continued:
“We found payments to Mercer Residential Security Consulting.”
Marcus looked toward Evelyn.
“Related?”
Peter nodded.
“Owned by Diane Mercer’s husband.”
Evelyn stared.
“How much?”
“Two hundred eighty-four thousand dollars over four years.”
Lena looked sick.
Marcus kept his voice neutral.
“For what services?”
“That’s the problem.”
Peter opened invoices.
Threat assessments.
Guest-risk monitoring.
Credential compliance review.
Security liaison.
Evelyn laughed.
“She was paying her husband to help her police the building.”
“Possibly.”
Marcus asked:
“Board approval?”
“Some.”
“Conflict disclosure?”
“Incomplete.”
“Actual work?”
Peter slid another report.
“Much of it appears duplicative of services already included in the management contract.”
Marcus stood.
“I definitely should leave.”
Evelyn sighed.
“Fine.”
He picked up the groceries.
Then Lena said:
“There’s one more thing.”
Marcus stopped.
She looked toward Evelyn.
“The consulting company accessed resident demographic information.”
Marcus slowly turned.
“What information?”
“Age.”
“Emergency contacts.”
“Vehicle registrations.”
“Guest patterns.”
“Some financial qualification records from older purchase files.”
Evelyn’s face changed.
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
Peter said:
“There are exported reports.”
“Categories.”
“What categories?”
Lena looked ashamed.
“Resident concern scores.”
Marcus stared.
“Based on?”
“Frequency of guests.”
“Service workers.”
“Late assessments.”
“Complaints.”
“And…”
She hesitated.
Evelyn said:
“And?”
Lena looked at her.
“Neighborhood-origin data.”
Marcus felt cold.
“What does that mean?”
“Previous ZIP code.”
Silence.
The implications did not need explaining.
Diane’s behavior might have been more than personal bias.
Her husband’s company had created a private resident-monitoring system that sorted households by perceived security concern using factors that could reproduce class and racial patterns.
Marcus put the grocery bag back down.
“This needs independent counsel.”