Chapter 1

For three years I rented that place, and out of my own pocket I turned my landlord's bare, unfinished unit in a run-down neighborhood into a luxurious, sunlit dream apartment.

When I gave notice, I told the landlord I'd leave the renovations untouched, and the furniture and appliances too, all for him.

He thanked me, thrilled, and I thought my goodwill would buy me a decent goodbye.

I never expected that the moment the deposit came up, he'd turn on a dime and say, mean as anything:

"Deposit! What deposit?"

"You altered my rental unit without my permission. Your breach, your unauthorized renovations, that ate up the deposit a long time ago!"

"I'm being generous not making you pay damages, and you still want your deposit back?"

"You gave notice, so pack up your junk and get out. Don't blame us if we stop being nice and call the cops to have you removed."

And with that, I stared at the phone he'd hung up on and let out a cold laugh.

Fine. Since you say you never agreed to the renovations,

then I'll respect your word, and give you back the apartment exactly the way it was.

...

The second the landlord hung up, my friend Judy Finch called.

"Blanche, what is wrong with this landlord of yours?"

Judy's voice was furious.

I frowned a little.

"What happened? Did he say you can't rent my old place?"

Judy's answer was pure disbelief.

"It's not that he said no, he's lost his mind!"

"He just messaged me and said, sure, I can renew the lease, for eight thousand a month!"

I froze where I stood, my mind going blank.

Eight thousand?

For three years my rent on that place had been exactly two thousand a month.

I'd been planning to move out, and since Judy happened to be looking for a place nearby,

I'd passed the landlord Patrick Lambert's contact along to her.

I hadn't even planned to take the furniture and appliances I'd so carefully picked out.

I just wanted my friend to be able to move right in with her bags.

The landlord would end up with a fully finished apartment and could bump the rent a few hundred. It was a win for everyone.

When I'd first brought it up with Patrick,

he'd thumped his chest and said no problem.

And now the rent had quadrupled overnight?

I hung up with Judy and dialed Patrick's number directly.

"Patrick, did you get the rent figure wrong when you quoted Judy?"

I asked, holding down the anger inside me.

Patrick's voice came through, careless.

"Nope, no mistake. Eight thousand, not a cent less."

"But my rent's been two thousand for three years. Four, five, we could talk about."

"Eight is absurdly high."

I gripped the phone tighter.

Looking back over those three years, Patrick had hinted, openly and otherwise, more than once that he wanted to raise the rent.

But because I'd wanted to keep things simple and signed a locked three-year lease all at once, he'd never managed to pull it off.

Patrick let out a cold laugh on his end.

"Blanche Armstrong, why don't you go ask around out there."

"That fully finished dream apartment you're living in, all the appliances, move-in ready, I could list it online for ten thousand and people would be fighting over it!"

"I only knocked two thousand off for her because she's your friend."

"If you can't afford it, don't go renting nice places. Don't throw my kindness back in my face."

I laughed coldly to myself. Finished dream apartment? I was the one who renovated it,

and he had the nerve to try raising my rent!

Before I could get a word of protest out, he hung up on me, and a link came flying through on the messenger right after.

I opened it.

The title jumped out at me: Stunning fully finished dream apartment, full set of appliances like new, ten thousand a month, don't sleep on it!

Every photo was a picture from my own life that I'd posted these past three years.

My lace curtains, my solid-wood desk, and the refrigerator I'd paid a small fortune for.

Even the throw pillows I'd left on the couch had become bait for luring in tenants.

A chill shot up from the soles of my feet to the top of my head.

I hadn't fully moved out yet. My personal things were still inside.

And he'd already listed the place online, even flagged it as available for viewings anytime.

A bad feeling spread wildly through me.

I shot to my feet, grabbed my bag, and bolted.

The moment the car pulled up at the mouth of the neighborhood alley, I raced upstairs.

The door was ajar.

Noise and footsteps spilled out from inside.

I shoved the door open.

The sight in front of me froze the blood in my veins.

Three strangers, in shoes caked with mud, were tramping across the wool rug I'd only recently replaced.

My wardrobe stood open, the clothes inside pawed into a mess.

The skincare on my vanity had even had its caps twisted off.

Patrick stood in the middle of the living room, spraying spit as he bragged.

"Look at this light, this renovation, worth every penny and more!"

I strode in, my voice ice cold.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Patrick turned, saw me, and showed not a shred of guilt. If anything, his brow furrowed with irritation.

"What are you back for? I'm showing the place. If this holds up finding my next tenant, can you cover the loss?"

I pointed at the mud prints on the floor and my personal things pawed into disarray.

"The lease isn't even up. What gives you the right to bring people in and rummage through my things?"