Chapter 2 No Exceptions

Someone replied a mere three minutes after the message was posted, "Good job, management. They need to stop people like them from getting in. What happens if something goes wrong? What if they're casing the place?

"It's almost New Year's, and there are more thieves around this time of year."

"Exactly. They can't just let them in."

I stared at the screen.

That was my mother they were talking about.

The scarf she was wearing was one I'd bought for her last year. She'd said she didn't want to wear it and had saved it just for the New Year's.

That canvas bag had been mine throughout college. I'd used it for four years. Later, I told my mother to keep it around when she said she wanted to throw it away. She'd held onto it ever since, bringing it all the way here from our hometown.

I zoomed in on the photo.

My mother was standing in the wind, squinting as if she were looking for something.

I started typing. My hands were shaking.

"That's my parents. I'm Sylvia Lind, the owner of Unit 2201 in Tower 3. They came to spend New Year's with me."

I sent it. The group went quiet for a few seconds.

Then, someone replied, "So what? If they're not registered in the system, they can't come in. The rules apply to everyone. Owners don't get special treatment either. Won't they pin the blame on management if they get hurt after coming in?"

"Exactly. It's not like they're being kept out. Just register their faces, and they can come in. The security guard is just following procedure."

I didn't respond.

I left the group chat, pulled up my call history, and called the property manager.

It rang eight times before he finally answered, "Ms. Lind, I heard about what happened. It's not that I'm unwilling to make an exception…"

"How long have they been standing outside?"

"The security guard was just following procedure…"

"Let them in," I snapped.

"Ms. Lind, I really can't do that. They're not registered in the system. I won't be able to cover my bases if something happens after I let them in. Why don't you come over? It shouldn't be far from your office."

"I'm already on my way."

"Okay. When you get here, you can take them in yourself. I'll tell the guard. About what happened today—"

I hung up. Then, I called my mother.

She answered after two rings.

Her voice was quiet, as if she were afraid someone might hear her.

"Sylvia, we're fine. Don't worry. The police are coming, and everything will be alright once we talk to them."

I could hear the howling wind in the background, and then I heard my father coughing.

"Mom, are you still standing out in the wind?"

"No, no. We're by that little pavilion nearby. It's not that cold."

There was no pavilion by the entrance to Crescent Bay, only a row of bare stone benches.

I gripped my phone until my knuckles turned white. "Mom, keep the phone by your ear. Don't hang up."

"Okay."

I ran to the side of the road and flagged down a cab. The wind rushed into my throat, dry and bitterly cold.

The cab pulled up at Crescent Bay's East Gate 20 minutes later. I saw my parents as soon as I tumbled out of the vehicle.

They were standing outside the gate, separated from the entrance by the metal fence like two strangers who'd been turned away at the door.

My mother saw me first and forced a smile on her face. "Sylvia, you're here!"

I walked over.

My mother's face was red from the wind. The tip of her nose was numb with cold, and tiny flecks of frost clung to her eyelashes.

My father stood beside her without saying a word. He only gave a light cough when he saw me.

I took my mother's hand. It was as cold as ice.

I took off my coat and draped it over her shoulders.

"No, no. You should wear it," she urged.

"I'm warm."

I turned around.

The window of the security booth was open. The man who'd been smoking earlier was leaning against it, looking at his phone.

I walked over. "Open the gate."

He looked up, studied me for a moment, and recognized me.

"You're the owner, right? You can't take them in yet. The police are on their way. We have to wait for them to take a look at the suspects before we can let them through."