I unlinked my card in the online portal, deleted the saved billing profile, and shut the browser window.

The corporate apartment was silent apart from the steady hum of the refrigerator.

My laptop screen showed six unread messages from my mother, all sent between two and six in the morning.

At noon I walked into the mobile phone store three blocks from my corporate housing building.

A young clerk whose name tag said Tyler looked up from behind the long glass counter.

“I need a new line, a new phone and a completely new number,” I said.