Chapter 1

For nearly three years, I paid the utility bills for all the elderly people living alone in my building.

Because they didn’t know how to pay online with their smartphones, they asked for my help every single month.

Every time, I’d sit there paying their bills one by one on my phone.

Just cross-checking each household’s meter numbers and balances took half a day.

Sometimes, they’d even wake me up in the middle of the night because their power got cut.

Still, I figured we were neighbors, so I never complained once.

Until this summer, when the electricity bills skyrocketed. One old lady thought her bill was ridiculously high and flat-out accused me of taking kickbacks.

"Last month it was only eighty bucks, and this month it’s a hundred and fifty! You greedy little con artist!"

The other seniors I had helped for years chimed in right away:

"Exactly, Chloe. That’s really dirty of you. My electric bill went up a ton, too."

I tried to explain patiently, but they threw a huge tantrum right in the hallway, yelling that they wouldn't leave until I gave them a refund.

I was so furious I actually laughed. I pulled out my phone and called 911 right in front of them.

From this day on, pay your own damn bills!

The second 911 connected, the old lady’s son lunged forward, trying to snatch my phone.

"You have the nerve to call the cops? You scam my mom, and you act like you’re the victim?"

I stepped aside, dodging him cleanly. My finger stayed firmly on the speaker button, my voice cold as ice:

"Hi, I’m being harassed and falsely accused of fraud. Someone is trying to assault me right now."

After hanging up, I leaned against the peeling hallway wall and stared down the mother and son.

The old lady was Mrs. Jenkins, seventy-three, living right above me.

Three years ago, she knocked on my door crying that she couldn’t figure out the online utility portal, her power was out, and she couldn't sleep in the heat.

I had just gotten home from brutal overtime, barely able to keep my eyes open. But seeing her trembling at my door broke my heart.

"Mrs. Jenkins, I’ll pay it for you. Just show me your bill."

She shakily handed over the final notice showing an unpaid balance of $86.40.

I paid it through my app. She forced a ninety-dollar cash bill into my hand, telling me to keep the change as a tip.

I didn't take it. I gave her back every cent of change.

Word spread quickly after that.

Mr. Davis from the second floor, Mrs. Higgins from the fourth, Mrs. Cooper on the ground floor—they all came knocking.

They were all seniors in their seventies and eighties living alone, totally lost with smartphones, forced to wait in long lines at the utility office every month.

I thought, we’re neighbors, it’s just a few taps on my phone. So I agreed.

To make things organized, I created a group chat and invited them all.

Whenever their monthly bills arrived, they’d snap a photo, I’d pay it, and then I’d post the official digital confirmation receipt right into the chat. Crystal clear.

For the first couple of months, everything was great.

They were beyond grateful. Mr. Davis brought me homemade pickles, Mrs. Higgins knit me woolen slippers, and Mrs. Cooper dropped off fresh baked treats.

It warmed my heart. But this summer, everything turned rotten.

July was scorching. The seniors blasted their ACs day and night, so electricity bills shot up across the board.

Mrs. Jenkins’s bill jumped from $86 last month straight to $157.

Everyone’s bill went up, but hers saw the biggest spike.

She started sending voice notes in the group chat, her tone passive-aggressive: "Oh my, why is the bill so insanely expensive this month? Did someone mess up the numbers?"

I explained: "You ran the AC all day in this heat wave. Higher usage means higher rates. It’s normal."

She went silent. I thought that was the end of it.

I had no idea her son would show up at my door early this morning.

A greasy, middle-aged guy in a faded plaid shirt, blocking my doorway and shouting so loud the entire building could hear.

"She’s a predator preying on elderly people! My mom’s bill used to be forty or fifty bucks. Now with her in charge, it’s over a hundred! How much kickback are you skimming off the top, you thief?!"

Mrs. Jenkins stood behind him, twisting her hands, her eyes darting nervously.

"My son told me that middlemen like you have deals with the utility company! You get cash kickbacks on every kilowatt-hour! It was only forty-something last month, and now it’s over a hundred! You’re robbing me blind!"

I froze, my ears ringing in sheer disbelief.

Kickbacks? A deal with the power company?

Since when was I running an energy syndicate?