Chapter 3

The moment Mr. Henderson found out I had called the housing authority, he escalated. It wasn't a phone call or a threat, it was immediate, tangible retaliation. I was still at the hospital, sitting by my mother's bedside in the ICU, when my neighbor Maria called me, her voice a panicked whisper.

"Sarah, you have to get back here. Henderson is changing the lock on your apartment door."

"What? He can't do that!"

"He's saying it's an emergency repair, that the fire department damaged the lock. But he has a handyman with him, and they're putting all your stuff from the hallway into trash bags! The box of photos, the little table... they're throwing it out!"

The box of photos. It held the last pictures of my dad. My blood ran cold.

"I'm on my way," I said, my voice dangerously calm. I kissed my mother's forehead, whispered that I'd be back, and ran from the hospital.

On the phone, I called 911 again.

"My name is Sarah Miller. My landlord, Robert Henderson, is illegally evicting me from my apartment at 123 Oak Street, apartment 4C. He is throwing out my personal property right now."

The dispatcher's voice was professional and soothing.

"I see a report from the fire department about a carbon monoxide incident at that address this morning, ma'am. We will dispatch officers immediately. Please do not engage with your landlord. Wait for the police."

I got off the bus two blocks from my building and ran. I could see the police car pulling up just as I rounded the corner. But Henderson had been clever. He hadn't put the bags on the curb. He had his handyman, a sullen man named Frank, pile them next to the dumpster in the back alley, technically still on private property.

Two police officers met me at the entrance. I quickly explained the situation, my voice tight with rage.

"He's trying to throw away my things because I reported him to the housing authority."

The officers were professional but cautious. "We can't get involved in a civil dispute, ma'am. But an illegal eviction is a criminal matter. Let's go talk to him."

When we got to the fourth floor, we found Frank standing in front of my open apartment door. A new, shiny silver lock was in place. He blocked the doorway with his body.

"Can't let you in," he grunted, not looking at me. "Landlord's orders. The apartment is unsafe."

One of the officers, a tall woman with a no-nonsense expression, stepped forward.

"Sir, you are preventing this woman from entering her legal residence. That's against the law. Step aside."

Frank just shook his head. "Mr. Henderson said not to let anyone in. He's talking to his lawyer."

"We're the police," the other officer said, his voice hardening. "Your landlord's orders don't override the law. Move, or you'll be arrested for obstruction."

The sound of the elevator door opening made us all turn. It wasn't Henderson. It was a crew from the local news station I had called, a reporter and a cameraman. They must have been monitoring the police scanner. The sight of the camera made Frank's face pale.

The reporter, a sharp young woman named Jessica, walked right up to the scene. "What's going on here? We got a tip about a tenant being locked out after a carbon monoxide incident."

Before the police could stop her, Henderson himself came storming up the stairs, his face purple with rage.

"What is all this?" he bellowed, pointing a shaking finger at me. "This is a private building! I'm dealing with a hazardous materials situation caused by a negligent tenant, and now she's brought the police and the media to harass me?"

The female officer stepped between us. "Mr. Henderson, we're here to ensure Ms. Miller can access her home."

"Her home?" Henderson laughed, a wild, unhinged sound. "She's lucky she's not being sued for property damage! Her illegal space heater probably overloaded the circuits and caused the furnace to malfunction! She's the one who created this mess!"

It was such an outrageous lie that I just stared at him. The camera was rolling, capturing every word.

"That's not true," I said, my voice shaking. "I have repair requests dating back two weeks about the faulty heater."

"Forged, I'm sure!" he spat. "You'll do anything for a buck!"

The news camera zoomed in on his face. The reporter, Jessica, stepped forward, microphone in hand.

"Mr. Henderson, so you're saying the carbon monoxide leak that sent a 72-year-old woman to the ICU was the tenant's fault?"

Seeing the camera and the determined look on the reporter's face, Henderson seemed to realize he had gone too far. He tried to backtrack, but it was too late.

"I'm just saying... there are two sides to every story," he stammered.

At that moment, the fire chief, who must have been called back to the scene by the police, arrived with two firefighters. He was holding a clipboard.

"Robert Henderson?" the chief asked, his voice booming in the narrow hallway. "My team's preliminary report confirms the CO leak originated from a cracked heat exchanger in the building's main furnace. An issue that, according to our maintenance records, is consistent with long-term neglect."

Henderson's face went from purple to a sickly white. He was trapped. The police, the media, the fire department, they were all here. His lies were unraveling in real time.

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a venomous hatred. He knew he was losing. As the police officer ordered Frank to unlock my door and the fire chief began asking Henderson pointed questions about his maintenance schedule, Henderson did one last, petty, evil thing.

He lunged past the officers, not towards me, but towards the open door of my apartment. Inside, just by the entrance, was a small bookshelf holding my son's school trophies and a clay handprint he made in kindergarten. It was the only furniture they hadn't dragged out yet.

With a grunt of effort, he shoved the bookshelf. It toppled over with a sickening crash, the clay handprint shattering on the floor.

"Oops," he sneered, looking directly at me. "So clumsy."

The entire hallway went silent. The cameraman caught the whole thing. The female officer grabbed Henderson's arm, her face a mask of disgust.

"That's it," she said, her voice like ice. "You're done."