Part 2Kicked Out of Property Management, Owners Regret It Badly

I went to the parking garage to get my car. Tiffany Hanlon was waiting for me. Draped in gold and designer brands, she was a stark contrast to my own disheveled state. She squeezed out a few crocodile tears and greeted me with feigned awkwardness.

"Claire, honey, I had no idea everyone was so upset with you. I mean, we've gotten along so well these past few months. It feels so empty now that you're just… gone."

I didn't say a word, just opened my car door and got in.

She deliberately stood in front of my car, then sidestepped with a theatrical little gasp, as if she'd just noticed. If our first meetings had been tinged with a thin veneer of politeness, her current arrogance was overflowing.

"Fine. We won't leave. Just pay the ten years of fees you owe," I said coolly, raising an eyebrow.

Her brow instantly furrowed, a wave of hostility radiating from her. She tilted her head back, her eyes practically shooting sparks. Then she spat on the ground, a contemptuous smile spreading across her face.

"Pah! You actually took my polite act seriously? Why the hell would I give you money?"

She climbed onto the hood of my car, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at my face. "You should take a good look in the mirror. We didn't pay you for ten years, and you still worked, didn't you? Just from recycling, you probably pocketed thousands every day from all the bottles you collected!"

"How do we even calculate that? You lined your pockets with money that belongs to us. You should be grateful we're not suing you to get it back!"

She slid off the hood, her nails dragging across my window. "I'm not one to hold a grudge. If it weren't for your incompetence, we never would have realized how useless property management is. My Mark wouldn't have had this opportunity."

She gestured grandly at the parking spot. "Once you're gone, this prime spot is all mine." Her every move reeked of smug superiority.

"Management is useless, is it?" I asked, my voice calm but my gaze sharp.

"The delivery services for Crestview drop everything in the lobby. Most residents are working professionals who get home after the mail room closes. If we weren't sorting every package and making sure they got delivered to your doors, your apartment would be a disaster zone."

"Every holiday, you'd complain that other communities gave out gifts. So I'd make dumplings in the management office for everyone. You'd all insist they were gifts and fight over them until every last one was gone. If your family couldn't produce 'gifts' like that, the whole community would be camped on your doorstep demanding them!"

I had only pointed out two minor things, but they hit their mark. The smugness drained from Tiffany's face, replaced by a blotchy, angry red.

Her voice rose, trembling slightly. "That's none of your damn business! My Mark used to run a whole street when he was younger!"

Her voice echoed in the empty garage, but she couldn't meet my eyes.

"You're reacting so strongly. Looks like I hit a nerve," I said calmly.

"The public facilities in this community were paid for and are maintained by us. Your access fobs will all be deactivated tonight. The security gates will become useless decorations. I'll be contacting the manufacturer to repossess them, so they don't block your way."

"The elevator maintenance hasn't been paid for in three years. As per the contract, they'll be coming to disable them. Starting tomorrow, all residents will be taking the stairs."

Beads of sweat formed on Tiffany's forehead. Each of these seemingly simple issues would be a nightmare for her and Mark to handle. I knew about Mark's "management experience"—it consisted of shaking down local shops for protection money over a decade ago. In today's world, the slightest show of force from him would trigger a massive backlash. We're all homeowners here, what makes you so special?

Tiffany swallowed hard and stumbled back a step. She shot me a furious glare, then took off her stiletto and viciously stabbed it into my tire. Again and again. The front left tire hissed and deflated.

"No security cameras down here," she spat. "A little reward for your smart mouth!"

My fists clenched. I grabbed the heavy insulated thermos from my passenger seat and jumped out of the car, raising it to strike. But I stopped myself. If I hit her, she'd twist the story, and I'd likely lose my car in the legal mess.

"I'll take this loss," I said through gritted teeth.

I got back in the car and started the engine. Then I made two phone calls.

"Our management contract has been terminated. You can come and collect your equipment."