Chapter 2
The piercing blare of the megaphone tore through the quiet evening.
Windows snapped open across the courtyard. Neighbors stepped onto their balconies, whispering and pointing.
"I repeat," Elena's voice boomed through the speaker, steady and commanding.
"The fish is completely unprocessed. There is no antidote for tetrodotoxin. Ingestion causes rapid respiratory failure within thirty minutes. Return the cooler or leave it by the dumpster immediately!"
Behind the floral curtains of Unit 204, Brenda Miller peeked through the blinds, a sneer twisting her wrinkled face.
"Deadly poison? Who does that little brat think she's fooling?"
Brenda scoffed and ripped off the thermal wrapping. Inside, packed in dry ice, lay a massive, glistening fish with dark tiger stripes and a plump belly.
The flesh felt firm and fresh.
She just realized how expensive this fish is, Brenda thought smugly. Now she's screaming on a loudspeaker to scare me into giving it back. Shameless.
Brenda pulled out her phone. Her thumb flew across the screen as she opened the Nextdoor neighborhood app.
Within seconds, she blasted a post to the entire community:
"Some people have zero manners! The woman in Unit 203 lost a grocery box and is screaming on a megaphone like a lunatic. Claiming the fish is 'poisonous' just to terrorize elderly neighbors and children. Learn some basic decency!"
Pings flooded the thread. Several gullible neighbors began liking the post, complaining about the noise disturbance.
Down on the lawn, Elena's phone buzzed with the Nextdoor alert.
She glanced at Brenda's anonymous post. And pulled up three verified digital documents on her phone:
The International Cold-Chain Customs Manifest, the Japanese Fishery Board's Lethal Biohazard Warning, and the official laboratory toxicology certificate.
She opened the official HOA homeowner group chat -- where every resident was registered under their legal name and unit number.
Elena uploaded the certificates and pinned them straight to the top of the announcement board.
The group chat exploded into immediate panic.
"Wait, this isn't a joke?!"
"Look at the official customs seal and the toxic skull stamp!"
"Whoever took it, return it right now before someone dies!"
Three miles away on the commuter train, Brenda's daughter, Chloe, unlocked her phone.
She opened the HOA chat to see what the commotion was about.
The instant Chloe saw the high-resolution toxicology certificate and the words fatal neurotoxin, the color drained from her face.
She knew her mother.
Brenda had a compulsive habit of grabbing unattended deliveries from the corridor. Just last week, Brenda had bragged about "finding" a luxury gift basket.
A suffocating dread gripped Chloe's throat.
Her hands trembling violently, Chloe dialed her mother's number.
"Pick up, Mom," Chloe whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Please... pick up the phone!"