Chapter 4

I didn't lose it on the spot. Because out of nowhere, I remembered something my mom taught me when I was little: "When something happens, don't rush. The second you rush, you mess up. Step back first. See clearly. Then move." So I stepped back.

I turned and left Unit 2202, entered the elevator, and pressed the lobby button. As it descended, I leaned against the wall, closed my eyes, and thought furiously.

She changed the lock. Fine. I had the deed and could call a locksmith.

She altered the apartment. Fine. It was property damage, and I could sue.

She slandered me to the neighbors. Fine. I had evidence and could explain it one person at a time.

But all those individual "fine" problems added up to one enormous problem.

When facing someone who refuses to play by the rules, all your rules become worthless paper. She relied not on evidence or law, but emotion and guilt. In her system, a tear outweighed a deed, a hug trumped legal clauses—and I couldn't cry.

I crossed the lobby. One receptionist glanced at me with something other than hostility. I wondered, 'Was that pity?'

But who did she pity, Sophie or me?

I walked to the property management office and pushed the door open.

The property manager, Mr. Brown, forced a smile. "Ms. Carter, what can I do for you?"

I slapped my deed down on his desk. "Mr. Brown, this is the deed to Unit 2202. My name is written on it in black and white. So explain this to me. Why is Sophie Lane listed as the owner in your system?"

Mr. Brown glanced at the deed, then at me. His smile did not change, but his eyes did. It was a look that said, "I know you're right, but I can't take your side."

Mr. Brown said, "We only register residents; we do not verify ownership. Ms. Lane supplied a purchase contract and identification, so we followed procedure."

"A purchase contract?" I frowned. "What purchase contract?"

"That, I'm not really sure. You'd have to ask Ms. Lane."

"Mr. Brown, you're the manager here. Someone in your complex used a fake contract to register herself as the owner, and you're saying you don't know anything about it?"

"Fake contract?" Mr. Brown's expression changed. The smile vanished, and his tone hardened. "Ms. Carter, you can't just throw that around. Ms. Lane has a very good reputation here. There's no way she'd use a fake contract."

"So you're saying my deed is fake?"

"I didn't say that." He adjusted his glasses. "But Ms. Carter, fake documents are common now. Our management office can't verify their authenticity. If you dispute the ownership, I suggest taking legal action. Until then, we can only maintain the status quo."

Translated, those four words meant: we are siding with Sophie.

I took a deep breath and put the deed away. "Mr. Brown, one last question. That message in the group chat calling me part of a professional extortion scam—did you send it?"

He went quiet for two seconds. "One of our staff sent it based on information provided by Ms. Lane. If any part of it was inaccurate, then I apologize."

"Keep the apology," I said. "But remember this conversation today. When the truth comes out, I hope you still remember exactly what you said to me." Then I turned and left.

From behind me, I heard Mr. Brown mutter under his breath, but I still caught it. "Scammers these days really have some nerve."

I didn't look back. Outside the management office, I stood in the garden while the sun shone straight down on me, but I couldn't feel a bit of warmth.

I took out my phone and sent Sophie a message.

[Sophie, I am giving you one final chance. Move out within three days, or I will call the police.]

The message was marked as read.

No reply came.

Three days later, I returned with a locksmith, two movers, and my college friend Tom Grant, now a lawyer in the city. The five of us marched straight to Unit 2202.

The locksmith examined the lock and frowned. "It's a smart lock with a Class C cylinder, so it won't be easy to open. If I force it, the lock will be ruined."

"Then ruin it," I said.

The locksmith was about to start when a scream suddenly rang down the hallway.

"What are you doing?" I turned. Unit 2203's door flew open, and an older woman rushed out, mop in hand. Seeing me, she stared as if she'd seen a ghost. "You again! You're bullying Sophie again!"

"Ma'am, this isn't bullying—"

"I'm telling you right now, as long as I'm here, you won't lay a finger on Sophie!" She shoved the mop across the doorway of Unit 2202 like a barrier. "Sophie! Sophie, come out now! Someone's trying to break into your home!"

The door to Unit 2202 opened from the inside.