On the curb outside the building's front entrance, Hope stood in oversized sunglasses and a flowy resort dress, one hand on a pink rolling suitcase, the other tapping at her phone as she waited for her rideshare.
I headed downstairs immediately.
Hope had her back to the lobby doors, all her attention fixed on a car still stuck at the intersection.
I pretended to be on a call and walked right past her.
The instant I brushed by the suitcase, my fingertip hooked the zipper of the hidden compartment along its bottom edge.
One faint tug. I shoved the spare key, the one with the metal warehouse-access tag stamped with the company name, deep into the compartment and yanked the zipper shut.
I turned and melted into the crowd.
The rideshare pulled up. Hope cheerfully had the driver load her suitcase into the trunk and sped off without a backward glance.
I watched the car disappear down the block and let the corner of my mouth curl.
This one's on you now, Hope. No getting out of it.
The next morning I didn't set an alarm. Slept until my body decided it was done.
I sat on the couch in my apartment, coffee in hand, eyes fixed on the phone lying on the coffee table.