Chapter 4

The next day, at 9:50 AM, I arrived at my front door.

Mr. Brown from property management was also there.

Mr. Anderson wasn't.

I called him.

He answered after a long pause. "Ms. Vance, I have an urgent meeting right now. You talk to Maggie first; I'll be there soon."

I didn't waste words; I hung up.

At exactly 10 AM, I typed the new password Maggie had given me last night.

Incorrect.

I typed it again.

Still incorrect.

Mr. Brown frowned. "Changed again?"

I called Maggie.

No answer.

I called Carter.

He answered.

His voice was lazy. "What do you want?"

"Open the door."

"My mom's not feeling well; we can't move today."

"The police incident report last night stated you must vacate by 10 AM."

"Then go find the police."

I said, "Open the door."

Carter scoffed. "Ms. Vance, don't be so aggressive. We can move, but you need to pay my mom's fees."

"I've already paid the agency in full."

"That's between you and the company. My mom's been taking care of your house these past few days, and our family helped out too. Care fees, moving fees, lost wages — it adds up to fifteen hundred."

I almost laughed out loud.

"You lived in my house, and now you want moving fees from me?"

Carter said, "You bought such a big house, what's a little more money?"

I glanced at Mr. Brown.

Mr. Brown looked down at the ground, pretending not to hear.

I said into the phone, "I'm giving you ten minutes. If you don't open the door, I'll call the police again."

Carter's voice turned cold. "Calling the police won't help. A service dispute? The police aren't going to physically remove us!"

He hung up after that.

I stood at the door, my palms clammy.

Mr. Anderson then sent me a SnapChat message: "Ms. Vance, Maggie really isn't feeling well; please be understanding. They won't occupy the house; they'll move as soon as she feels better."

I replied: "If you don't move by 12 PM today, I'm pursuing legal action."

He replied after a long pause: "You'll only make things worse."

I stared at that sentence for a few seconds.

My mind suddenly felt very calm.

Worse? The locks have been changed, the password's been reset. How much worse can it get?

At noon, they hadn't moved.

At 3 PM, I went up again with property management.

I could hear the TV and a child laughing inside.

I rang the doorbell.

No one answered.

I knocked on the door.

Carter yelled from inside, "Stop knocking! The kid's taking his nap!"

I said, "Open the door."

The door opened a crack, with the security chain still on.

Carter showed half his face. "I told you, we can't move today."

I asked, "Did you touch any of my things?"

He scoffed. "Who cares about your junk?"

I said, "If anything is missing from the study cabinet, I will report it to the police."

His face changed slightly, then quickly returned to normal. "Who are you trying to scare?"

The door slammed shut.

I didn't leave.

I took the fire escape down one floor, then circled back to the emergency stairs.

The fire door on the twenty-third floor didn't muffle sound well.

They probably thought I had left, as the door wasn't tightly shut.

Fragments of their conversation drifted out.

Mia was saying, "I've listed those bags online. Someone's asking if they can see them in person."

Carter said, "Don't list the bags yet; they're too conspicuous. Those two watches in the study cabinet are valuable, easy to turn into cash."

Maggie lowered her voice. "She looked at that cabinet yesterday; don't mess with it."

Carter was impatient. "She's just a woman, what can she do? A couple of threats and she'll back down."

Mr. Anderson's voice was also there.

"Don't make it too obvious. If she complains, I can stall her. Just say the housekeeping service isn't finished and there's a dispute over the fees."

Maggie said, "She even said she'd call the police. So what? I'm sixty. If I just lie down on the ground, who would dare touch me?"

Mia laughed. "Mom, you were really good yesterday."

Everyone laughed.

Carter added, "Let's stay until the end of the month. She has money for a hotel; she's the one who'll be desperate."

Mr. Anderson reminded them, "If you really sell the stuff, find someone you know. Don't leave any records."

Mia said, "Don't worry, I'll use a burner account."

I stood behind the fire door, listening, my fingertips numb.

So they never intended to leave from the start.

"Not feeling well," "the child has nowhere to go"—all just excuses.

I recorded their conversation on my phone until their laughter faded.

My chest felt like a burning iron block.

I endured it all night, gave them chances, called property management, involved the police, reasoned with the contract.

They thought I was easy to bully.

They said I was just a woman.

They said I was the one who was desperate.

I turned and went downstairs, walking to the flower beds in the complex, and called Jason.

"Jason, I need a favor."

"Name it."

"Send me all the purchase and sales contracts, invoices, serial numbers, and insurance policies for the studio's equipment and samples. Also, get your lawyer friend to review the evidence with me tonight."

Jason paused. "Is something wrong?"

I looked up at the light on the twenty-third floor and said softly,

"Someone moved into my home. I'm going to make them regret it bitterly."

Jason cursed.

I said, "Don't rush."

"Since they think I'm weak, I'll let them show their true colors."