The moving van arrived on a Tuesday. Leo watched from the vast, empty living room of his penthouse, a coffee going cold in his hand. It wasn't the usual discreet, black-service vehicles of the other residents. This was a bright, garish yellow truck with "Big Mike's Movers - We Haul It All!" emblazoned on the side in comic sans. It was parked in front of the townhouse directly across the private, cobbled courtyard from the main entrance of The Apex. The townhouses were historic, ivy-covered, and cost more than most people made in a decade. They were never for sale. Someone had died, presumably.

The movers were hauling out a bizarre assortment of items: a massive, potted fiddle-leaf fig tree; a vintage turntable with milk-crate-sized speakers; dozens of cardboard boxes labeled "BOOKS (NON-FICTION)" and "ART SUPPLIES - FRAGILE!"; and a life-sized, slightly menacing papier-mâché sculpture of what looked like a dancing squid.