There it was: the pivot. If they could not call me selfish, they would call me unstable. If they could not get access through guilt, they would try concern.
Dennis did not take the bait.
“I can’t touch this lock without authorization from the property owner,” he said. “And this looks integrated with the building system. Even if I could bypass part of it, I shouldn’t.”
Dad lowered his voice. “Come on. Don’t make this official.”
“It already is official,” Dennis said, stepping back. “There’s a camera recording me standing here. I’m sorry, Rich. I can’t help you.”
My mother’s face hardened. “Unbelievable.”
Dennis left faster than he arrived.
For several seconds, no one moved.
Then my mother began pounding on the door.
Not knocking. Pounding. Both fists. Hard enough that the camera picked up the vibration in the frame.
“Christina!” she shouted. “Open this door right now! This is your mother!”
A door across the hall opened a few inches. Dr. Patel appeared in scrubs, clearly post-call and exhausted.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
My mother turned toward him, instantly wounded. “My daughter is refusing to answer the door.”
Dr. Patel looked at my father, Bethany, the door, the camera. “Maybe she isn’t home.”
“She is home,” my mother snapped.
“She isn’t,” Bethany said.
Dad glared at her. “Stop helping.”
Another door opened. Mrs. Alvarez from the end unit, a retired judge I had met only once, looked out with the expression of a woman who had spent decades recognizing bad arguments before they finished forming.
Building security arrived within the next minute.
Howard Mills, the morning concierge guard, stepped from the elevator with calm professionalism. Howard was in his forties, tall, always immaculate in his uniform, with a voice that seemed designed to lower temperatures.
“Good morning,” he said. “Is there a problem here?”
My mother performed a transformation so fast it would have impressed me if I had not been furious.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she said. “We’re trying to check on our daughter. Christina Hale. She lives here. Her lock seems to be malfunctioning.”
Howard did not glance at the lock. “Ms. Hale has not authorized visitors this morning.”
Dad’s voice sharpened. “We are not visitors. We are her parents.”
“Under building policy, anyone not listed as a resident or approved guest is a visitor.”
“We need to speak with her,” Mom said.