Invasion of Privacy

their financial statements? Then the owner-occupants we did have started losing their jobs to the recession, and that meant more foreclosures, and— Oh, it was terrible.”
    I looked around. “You and your husband came through it well.”
    “Oh, yes,” she said in the neutral voice. “The unit may never be worth what we paid for it, which kind of ties us to Plymouth Willows. And I do just temporary work, because I like to be in charge of my own schedule. But Steven is a research chemist, and fortunately, his job is quite secure. We get along nicely.”
    A “normal” life, as she’d said before. I went back to the form. “Have you ever had any FAMILY MEMBERS come visit you here?”
    The cocking of the head. “What difference would that make?”
    “My clients want to know how the complex seems to outsiders so they can judge how potential purchasers would see their places toward resale.”
    A pause as she considered something. “I wouldn’t be able to help you there.”
    “No?”
    “Steven’s parents are dead. And when we got married, him being Armenian-American, and me Mexican, as I said... well, let’s just say my folks back home didn’t approve.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Not your fault.”
    Stepanian again said it in her neutral way, without sarcasm or even irony.
    I put my pen on the next question. “We’ve already covered OCCUPATION, SPOUSE. How about your DEALINGS WITH THE HENDRIX COMPANY?”
    “Well, when the developer finally went broke, the units he still owned—either because he hadn’t sold them or he’d had to foreclose on them—got auctioned somehow. I’m not quite sure how all that worked in the technical, legal sense—I wasn’t on the board then—but I had the impression that the FDIC or some other federal bank agency had them and then auctioned them off, with a realty trust buying most of them.”
    Olga Evorova had mentioned that, and I thought I ought be solidify my cover story with Stepanian toward asking her about Andrew Dees. “Which realty trust?”
    “I just know the name on the checks they send in for their monthly maintenance.”
    “Don’t those go to Hendrix?”
    “Yes, but we on the board kind of... informally audit the financial statements Boyce prepares for us.”
    “You have any reason to think those statements need to be audited?”
    “Oh. Oh, no, not in that sense. I think every condominium association that’s big enough to need a management company kind of keeps an eye on that company. Doesn’t yours?”
    “I rent.”
    “I mean, doesn’t the complex you’re working for do that with their current manager?”
    “Well, yes. In fact...” I shrugged.
    “Oh. Oh, I see. Is that one of the reasons they’re thinking of changing companies?”
    “You’re very astute, Mrs. Stepanian.”
    The small teeth. “Thank you, Mr. Cuddy.”
    “How have you found working with Mr. Hendrix?”
    “Oh, very pleasant. He’s always available by telephone, and visits the complex regularly.”
    “How does he treat you when you visit him?”
    “Visit him?” The clouded look. “I don’t think I ever have. Why would I, when Boyce is always happy to come here?”
    So a trustee has never seen Hendrix’s office. “Does he produce or process the documentation on time?”
    “There’s really just the annual meeting notices, and the monthly maintenance bills, but he also does a good job of analyzing things like ‘reserve for replacement,’ and advising us on insurance rates and so forth.”
    “How does he handle complaints?”
    “Well, there are very few, actually. The developer here might have gotten into trouble financially, but he made sure the buildings and systems were done right structurally. And our superintendent does a wonderful job of maintaining the grounds and pool.”
    “I might have seen him on my way in. Baseball cap, rake?”
    The small smile, but with a tinge of sadness to it. “Yes. Paulie Fogerty. When Boyce first hired him for us, I was a little... well, I suppose it’s ‘politically incorrect,’ but I was a little concerned about Paulie being up to the task. However, I have to say, he’s really turned out well, and even does the extra things.”
    “Extra things?”
    “Yes, like helping you in with groceries if he sees you struggling at all, or accepting packages when you’re not home. He can sign his name and everything.”
    I wasn’t quite sure how Stepanian meant that, but, again, she spoke without sarcasm, just that hollow sound