Chapter 1

"Fine, we can get divorced, but the apartment stays with me," I said.

David Turner slammed the divorce agreement on the table.

"What right do you have to make demands?" he sneered. "You're just a freeloader."

His mother, Mavis Turner, chimed in, "My son has supported you for five years, and you still—"

"Mavis, I was just saying—" I tried to interrupt.

"Shut up," Mavis snapped, slamming her hand on the table. "Who asked you to speak?"

I looked at the two of them and couldn't help but laugh.

Freeloader? Did he know whose name was on the deed to the apartment he lived in?

No, he didn't.

The whole building was mine, and he had no idea.

*****

My name was Laura Bennett, and I was 32 years old. I'd been "unemployed" for five years.

That was David's label for me.

Before we got married, I worked at a design firm, making 4,000 dollars a month. It wasn't much, but it was plenty for me.

After we got married, Mavis claimed she wasn't feeling well and needed someone to look after her. David said he was too busy with work to handle things at home.

"Quit your job," he said. "I'll take care of you."

I believed him.

The day I quit, I boxed up my stuff at work, thinking I was finally about to start my new life as a stay-at-home wife. But I never thought those words he said would end up cutting me like a knife.

Mavis always complained that my cooking wasn't good enough.

David was always saying I never earned a dime.

My sister-in-law, Jessica Turner, thought I was mooching off the family.

"How much do you spend every month?" David asked one day, flipping through the bills. "Groceries, utilities, and property management. It's almost 1,500 dollars."

"Isn't that normal spending?" I replied.

"Normal?" He slammed the bills down on the table. "Do you have a job? Do you make any money? Do you know how long it takes me to earn 1,500 dollars?"

David made 6,000 dollars a month.

He acted like earning 1,500 dollars was some huge accomplishment.

I started to say something.

"Don't bother explaining," he said, waving his hand. "Like you'd have a good excuse."

What he didn't know was, those days I went out to "run errands" every month were actually for collecting rent.

My dad passed away early, leaving me a whole building.

Six stories, mixed commercial and residential, with twenty-four apartments.

Each apartment rented for between 2,000 and 2,400 dollars a month.

Every month, 50,000 dollars got deposited into my personal account.

David didn't know a thing about any of this.

It wasn't that I was hiding it on purpose; he never bothered to ask.

He only asked me, "How much did you spend this time?" but never, "Where does the money come from?"

He took it for granted that every penny I spent was from him.

Today, I finally understood why.

In his eyes, I was just someone without a job.

A freeloader. Someone who couldn't survive without him.

And he thought he was some kind of saint for supporting me for five years.

The divorce agreement said the apartment went to him, and I left with nothing.

David shoved the pen toward me. "Go on, sign it."

I looked at the pen, refusing to take it.

"What's wrong?" He raised an eyebrow. "Trying to milk me for more?"

Mavis sneered, "I knew she was up to no good. She married in just to get her hands on our apartment."

I looked at her.

This place was one of the twenty-four apartments my dad left me.

Five years ago, I let David have it as our new home after marriage, and I never asked for a dime in rent.

And now she was accusing me of chasing after their apartment?

I started, "Mavis, this apartment—"

"Enough." Mavis cut me off. "Quit acting pitiful. David wants a divorce, so sign already and stop wasting time."

I took a deep breath.

Fine. Since they were so desperate for this apartment, I'd show them who really owned this place.

*****

It all started three days ago.

That afternoon, I went to the property management office like I always did.

Bennett Property Management was founded by my dad, and now I ran the whole show. The office was on the first floor of my building, and David walked past it every day on his way to and from work, but he'd never set foot inside.

He was interested.

He thought it was the regular property management office, not realizing it managed my building.

"Ms. Bennett, here's the rent summary for this month," Jake Shaw, the manager, said as he handed me the report.

I flipped through it; everything looked normal.

"By the way." Jake hesitated. "There's something you might want to know about."

"What is it?" I asked.

"The tenant in Apt. 603, the one right next to your place, said he's been hearing a woman's voice coming from your apartment lately."

I froze for a second.

Apt. 603 was our apartment.

A woman's voice?

"What does that mean?" I asked.

Jake looked a bit awkward. "Well, it's not your voice. The tenant said that sometimes in the afternoon, sometimes at night, he hears a woman laughing next door."

Afternoon? I was usually not home in the afternoon.

Mavis said she was out doing her dancing during the day, so there was no one home.

David said he was at work and didn't get back until after seven.

So who could that woman be?

I didn't say anything, but a bad feeling crept over me.

"Ms. Bennett?" Jake looked at me. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I said, putting the report away. "I got it."