Chapter 3

Judy Finch called the moment she heard what had happened.

"Blanche, don't go head to head with him. A thug like that will do anything."

"Come stay with me first. We'll settle the rest with him bit by bit later."

I looked down at Corey, still trembling in my arms, drew in a deep breath, and gave in.

"Okay. I'll move out tomorrow."

After I hung up, I started packing that same night.

Because of Patrick's outrageous list, there was pitifully little I could actually take.

I stacked the packed suitcases by the door, planning to call a car and haul everything away right after work the next day.

The next evening, the moment I reached the foot of the building, I sensed something was off.

A few familiar suitcases had been dumped by the trash can in the hallway.

Corey's carrier was flipped upside down in the corner, and a faint scratching came from inside.

I rushed over, righted the carrier, and once I made sure Corey was all right, I turned and stared at those suitcases.

They were mine.

I took the stairs two at a time, pulled out my key, and jammed it into the lock.

I twisted hard a few times. The key wouldn't turn at all.

The lock had been changed.

I stood in front of the sealed security door, so angry I laughed.

The lease didn't expire until the day after tomorrow, and he'd already thrown my things out and switched the locks.

Did he really think I was some soft touch he could push around however he liked?

I pulled out my phone right there, booked a locksmith through a local-service app,

and messaged a renovation crew I knew while I was at it.

Half an hour later, the locksmith showed up with his toolbox.

He looked at the door, then looked at me.

"You sure you actually live here?"

I pulled up the electronic lease on my phone and held it out to him.

"Take a good look. The lease runs through the day after tomorrow."

"I'm still the legal tenant of this unit, and I have every right to have the lock opened."

He checked the dates carefully and nodded.

"All right. A contract's good enough for me."

In under five minutes, the lock dropped to the floor.

I pushed the door open, and the workers filed in behind me.

I stood in the middle of the living room and looked around at the little home I'd put together so carefully.

When I first rented this place, it didn't even qualify as bare-bones construction.

The walls were exposed red brick, the floor was full of dips and holes, and a leaking pipe had left the corner damp and molded.

Even the windows were barely blocked off with broken planks against the wind.

To save money, I bought paint and coated the walls myself after work, and leveled the floor myself.

I fixed the pipes a little at a time, and it took me two months of saved wages to replace the windows.

Later, when things got better, I added an oven, a projector, a leather sofa.

Piece by piece I turned a run-down place where rats scurried around into a princess room dripping with that upscale feel.

I even posted the whole makeover online and built up a following of tens of thousands.

Because I'd poured so much of myself into it, I couldn't bear to wreck it, so I'd wanted to leave it all intact.

And what I got in return was my luggage thrown out, my pet kicked, my deposit withheld.

I dug up the photos I'd taken three years ago, the first time I came to see the place.

In them, the red brick was bare, the floor a mess, streaked with mold and water stains.

Back then, before it was rented out, the landlord's dog liked to run over and relieve itself here.

So when I first cleaned the place, every step turned up a fresh little surprise.