If they arrested him, who would he call? Should he tell them why he was there? Should he defend himself? But he didn’t have to do either, because while Chad was detailing how he’d been stalked and ambushed, a man in a dark suit walked in.

“Stop talking, Chad,” said the man.

“Dad, he followed me—”

“What did I just say?”

Chad stopped talking.

“Mr. Drake,” said the balding doorman, “we left a message with your office…”

“Not now, Martin,” said Chad’s father, taking a business card from a pocket inside his jacket. “Officers, my name is Ridley Drake. I am an attorney. This is my son and I’d like to speak with him alone for a moment if you don’t mind.”

The officers looked at each other. The man, Officer Sanchez by his name tag, appeared to make the decision for them both.

“Come with us, son,” said Sanchez. He motioned for Trevor to follow.

Was this it?

“I’ll be just a moment,” said Mr. Drake. “I do appreciate the courtesy.”

Back in the entry hall, Trevor stood in a circle with the cops and the doormen. The tall one took off his hat and scratched his head.

“That was exciting,” he said.

“The last time I was in this building was when Mrs. Wisner’s grandson OD’d,” said Officer Sanchez.

“So, why’d you hit him?” asked the female cop, Officer Malone. Her hair was pulled back into a short ponytail and she wore a bulletproof vest under her shirt.

Claudia had not given him permission to talk about what Chad and Jeremy had done. And she certainly hadn’t given permission to tell the police about it. He wanted to say it so badly: Because he raped my friend and took a video of it. But he didn’t.

“Because he’s a dick,” Trevor said.

The tall doorman laughed and the door to the storage room opened. Mr. Drake stepped out with Chad behind him, looking deflated.

“My son has decided against pressing charges,” he said. “We’re willing to call it a schoolyard fight, slightly off campus. How does that sound, son?”

“Fine,” said Trevor. “Can I go now?”

TREVOR

The big black car was waiting for him the next morning, as if his night spent obsessing had conjured the man up. Dark hair, dark suit, dark sunglasses, standing beside an open door.

“Trevor,” said Ridley Drake. “Do you have a minute?”

Trevor slid over on the dark leather seat and Ridley sat down beside him, pulling the door closed. The driver, also wearing a dark suit and sunglasses, checked his mirror and pulled into the traffic on Fourteenth Street.

“Where are we going?” asked Trevor.

“We’ll just drive a bit. I can drop you wherever you’d like. Do you want something to drink?” Ridley opened a console in the center of the vehicle that held water and flavored seltzer and glass bottles of beer.