Chapter 2

I stared at the chat until my fingers went white. The evidence was right in front of them, and they were still lying. Then Chloe Warren from Unit 402 spoke up: [The report is from a professional company. Emily paid for the entry door and the wheelchair ramp. She's helped all of us so much, and you're still ganging up on her?]

That message kicked the hornet's nest. Susan immediately turned on Chloe. [So you're on her side now? What did she give you? Why are you speaking up for her?]

Linda piled on too. [You're just a tenant, not even an owner. Stay out of our building's business. If you don't want to live here, then get lost and stop running your mouth.]

A whole group ganged up on Chloe, and the words kept getting uglier. I felt a stab of guilt and was about to defend her when a system notice popped up: [Chloe Warren has left the group chat.] My heart sank.

Right after that, Susan sent another message. [Emily Foster, don't think you can dump this on someone else. You have to pay every cent. Otherwise, we'll file a joint complaint and make property management fine you.] A long string of people echoed her, all of them pressuring me to pay.

I left the group chat and tossed my phone aside. The sky outside was dark and heavy, just like the rotten conscience of those people. My grandma had always said that neighbors could be closer than distant relatives, and that if I could help, I should. But after all I'd done for them, this was what I got in return.

With the inspection report in hand, I went to the community office and met Mr. Young. He read the report, watched my videos, and sighed. "The evidence is solid. Susan Baker from Unit 502 caused the blockage. You should take legal action and make her cover the unclogging fees and the damage to your home."

I rubbed between my brows, still hesitating. This was the home my grandma had lived in all her life. When it came to neighbors, we'd always be seeing each other sooner or later. I really did not want to drag things into court and burn up the last bit of goodwill left.

After leaving the community office, I went to the property management office. James Grant, the property manager, sat there with one leg crossed over the other. He did not even glance at the inspection report before waving a hand impatiently. "Ms. Foster, you're well-off. This little plumbing bill is nothing to you. If you can pay it all, just pay it. Why make things so tense with the neighbors?"

I laughed in disbelief. "Why should I pay the whole thing? The blockage is on the fifth floor. Susan caused it by dumping waste oil. I've already paid three times. I've done more than enough."

James curled his lip. "That's not how it works. You live on the first floor, so you're the first one affected when the main line clogs. If you don't pay, who will? Don't tell me you expect property management to pay for it. Besides, they've already filed a joint complaint against you. If you don't fix it, we'll issue a correction notice according to the rules."

Looking at James playing peacemaker, my heart went cold. I had paid to replace every hallway motion light, bought the common-area water dispenser, and stocked each floor's first-aid kit. Back then he could not stop calling me generous. Now he had changed his tune completely.

I didn't waste another word on him. I turned and walked out of the property management office, only to run straight into Susan and Linda at the building entrance, both carrying grocery baskets and rolling their eyes the second they saw me.

Susan deliberately raised her voice. "Some people are rich and still cheap as hell. They won't even chip in a little, and they make the whole building suffer along with them."

Linda chimed in, "Exactly. If you live on the first floor, you deserve the bad luck. If you don't want to pay, then move out. Nobody's stopping you."

I looked at the two of them, and the anger in my chest slowly settled. Taking a deep breath, I said, "Fine. I'll take a step back. The main drain line is old. Let's replace the whole drainage system once and for all. I'll cover fifty percent, and the rest can be split across the building. How's that?"

The moment I said it, both of them froze. Then Susan spat to the side and snapped, "Who needs your so-called compromise? You have to pay all of it. Otherwise we'll file a joint complaint and make sure you can't stay in this building another day."

Linda shouted right after her, "Yeah. Either you pay the full amount or get the hell out already."

I looked at their smug faces and didn't say another word. I turned and walked into the building. I'd already given them a chance. They were the ones who refused to take it.

I had not expected them to go that far. Three days later, when I returned to the old apartment, a correction notice was taped to my door. Property management accused me of dumping debris into the drain and ordered me to clear the pipes, cover the building's losses, and be reported to the community office for enforcement action if I refused.

My hands shook as I held the notice. Then James called. "Ms. Foster, you saw it, right? More than a dozen households signed the joint complaint. Just pay and settle it." Gritting my teeth, I asked, "Who exactly signed?"