Page 13 of Once Upon a Lie

Use this for coordinates, times, and messages to and from me. Everything real happens face-to-face, he’d said. His knitted eyebrows said he wasn’t kidding.

Now I’m in a one-bedroom condo in downtown Nashville, unpacking boxes filled with shit from my house that I didn’t even pack myself. At some point during the marathon of questioning and sitting in dark rooms, someone got me ready to move. The furniture, the dishes, pretty much everything is mine, but I still feel like I stepped into someone else’s life.

The condo smells like new paint and lemon cleaner, but all in all, it’s a pretty nice place for an undercover gig. Situated on the eighteenth floor with a modern layout—big windows that look onto the balcony that showcases a decent view of West End Avenue—it has to run about five thousand a month. It’s bare in comparison to my house on the southeast side of Nashville, but I’ve had a couple of years to attune that place to my taste, and the purpose of living here isn’t to get comfortable.

As I’m unloading the dishes into the kitchen cabinets, three sharp knocks at the door catch me by surprise. Clearly, I don’t know anyone here yet, and no one knows me.

“Just a second!” I call as I empty my hands and jog over to answer it.

When I swing open the door, I’m greeted by a woman in crisp khaki pants, pearl earrings, bright pink lipstick, and the confidence of someone who’s never been told no.

“Mr. Maddox,” she says, extending a manicured hand. “I’m Rita Fortune, president of the Magnolia Condos Homeowners Association.”

Oh boy. President of the HOA. Following rules set by someone with no real authority has never been my idea of a good time.

I shake her hand and offer a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you, Rita.”

Her responding smile is polite but evaluative. “I like to personally welcome all new residents. Helps us keep the building safe and . . .” She pauses, and her eyes flick to the boxes littering the entryway of my condo. “Orderly.”

“Well, good news.” I glance at the single sock sticking out of a half-open suitcase. “I’m currently working on the orderly part.”

“Good.” She nods, but she also tsks at the same time. Something tells me Rita Fortune is a perfect example of misplaced authority. It’s not any business of hers how messy my condo is, but she thinks it is, and since my goal is to get under the radar and focus on my mark, not get in a bickering match with Khaki Pants here, I keep my mouth shut.

“My job as the HOA president here is very busy. Magnolia Condos has one hundred and eighty residents, which is a lot of people to keep track of for me, but I’m just one of those special organized types that can handle such a workload. I’ve always been that way. Very competent in handling high-stress situations.”

I hum. Right. High-stress condo units. She should try a shoot-out in the middle of a hotel while innocent patrons take cover around her.

“There are twenty stories in the building. All the amenities are on the first through third floors.” Rita holds up a binder that’s thicker than the Bible. “And right here is everything you need to know about the community guidelines. Noise restrictions, parking assignments, pet policies, recycling schedule, and so on. I take the HOA very seriously because it’s very serious business, Mr. Maddox. This building is a community, not a dormitory.”

“Okay.” I nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And this . . .” She pauses to hold up the screen of her phone toward my face. “Is our resident app.”

The app showcases some kind of group chat with the words ​​Magnolia Connect​​ at the top of it.

“My nephew Donnie built it,” she continues to explain. “He’s very good with tech. Used AI or something. It’s called Magnolia Connect. You are required by law to download it while living at Magnolia.”

Damn, Rita and her nephew are almost as bad as the fucking CIA.

“Required by law?” I question, and her eyes turn very serious.

“Yes. HOA law, dear.”

Good grief, this woman is something.

“Good to know.”

“It is actually very important to know,” she corrects. “Which is why I’ve already sent the link to the email you have listed on your file to download the mandatory app to your phone. I expect you to get that done today. You’ll get daily updates, event reminders, and my newsletters.”

“Daily?” I ask.

She beams. “Sometimes twice.”

Fantastic.

“Now,” Rita says, flipping through her binder like she’s presenting classified material, “a few quick housekeeping notes before I let you go. We take pride in keeping the Magnolia tidy. All cardboard must be broken down before it goes into the recycling closet. Not flattened but broken down. I will know the difference.”

“Duly noted.”