Chapter 2

I took a deep breath, pulled out my phone, and scrolled through the group chat.

"Mrs. Jenkins, look. Every single official digital receipt is right here. I paid exactly what the utility company billed. I haven't kept a single penny."

Mrs. Jenkins glanced at the screen, her lips trembling, but said nothing.

Her son suddenly smacked my hand.

Smash!

My phone slammed onto the concrete floor, the glass screen shattering instantly.

"Cut the crap! You expect us to buy these fake screenshots? Admit you’re pocketing the difference!"

He shoved a finger right into my face, spittle flying onto my cheek.

I bent down and picked up my phone. A jagged crack ran straight across the display like an ugly scar.

"This phone cost twelve hundred dollars. Fixing the screen costs two hundred. You broke it. You pay for it."

"Pay my ass!" He took a threatening step forward, using his bulky frame to pin me against the corner.

"Spit out the money you stole from my mom, or I swear you’re not leaving this hallway today!"

Just then, heavy footsteps echoed from the stairs.

Mr. Davis hobbled up with his cane, while Mrs. Higgins cautiously made her way down from upstairs.

For a second, I thought they were coming to defend me.

Mr. Davis looked at me, then at Mark Jenkins, and let out a sigh. "To be fair... I thought my bill was a bit high this month too. It went from seventy-something to one-twenty out of nowhere."

Mrs. Higgins chimed in: "Ours jumped by dozens of dollars too. Chloe, dear... are you really taking a cut? If you're short on cash, just tell us. We'd help you out. You shouldn't sneak it out of our utility bills."

My fingers tightened around my cracked phone until my knuckles turned white.

These people. I had helped them for three entire years. I answered their calls at 2:00 AM to help reset their breakers. I never complained once. And now, they were all pointing fingers at me?

Seeing the crowd back him up, Mrs. Jenkins puffed up her chest.

"Exactly! You’re just a young girl renting an apartment! How much can you possibly earn? Where did you get the money for the newest iPhone, designer clothes, and fancy bags? I bet that money isn't clean at all!"

Her son sneered. "Mom, you don't get it. Girls her age have plenty of shady ways to make quick cash."

His implication was vile and disgusting, stabbing right into my dignity.

I stared him down. "Say that again."

"What? Struck a nerve?"

He crossed his arms, glaring down at me with smug arrogance. "I worked in property management for years. I know all your little tricks. Scammers like you act as 'helpful neighbors' to skim off the top. We ran several of your kind out of our old complex."

So that was it.

He used to work in building maintenance, which made him think he was an expert on scams.

What he didn't know was that I wasn't some shady middleman.

I was a freelance graphic designer. My logo packages started at five hundred dollars, and full brand identities earned me thousands.

I bought my iPhone with my own hard-earned money. I wore nice clothes because I could afford them. I rented this place because it was close to my main corporate clients.

I owed no explanation to this loser.

But today, he wasn't walking away without answering for this.

The police arrived in fifteen minutes.

A young officer in his late twenties, serious and sharp-eyed.

"Who called 911?"

"I did." I raised my shattered phone. "They’re slandering me, threatening me, and this man assaulted my property."

Officer Miller turned to Mark Jenkins. "Name?"

"Mark Jenkins." He pulled out his ID. "Officer, you came just in time! This girl has been running an utility scam on my elderly mother, pocketing kickbacks every month. Arrest her!"