Chapter 4

The sound of the shattering clay handprint echoed louder than a gunshot in the silent hallway. For a moment, I couldn't breathe. That little piece of baked clay was everything. It was my son, Leo, at five years old, his small hand pressed into the soft material, a permanent record of a time before life got so hard.

Then, a new voice cut through the tension, low and furious.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

I turned to see my brother, Mark, standing at the top of the stairs. He must have come straight from the hospital after I called him. He was bigger than Henderson, a solid wall of muscle from his construction job, and his face was a thunderstorm. He took in the scene in a single glance: me, pale and shaking; the shattered trophies; Henderson smirking in the cop's grip; the news camera.

Mark's eyes locked on Henderson. He didn't yell. He walked slowly, deliberately, until he was standing right in front of him.

"You put your hands on my sister's property?" Mark asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

Henderson, emboldened by the police presence, tried to bluster.

"This is a misunderstanding. The shelf was unstable..."

Mark ignored him and looked at me. "Are you okay, Sarah? What happened to Mom?"

"She's in the ICU," I whispered, the words catching in my throat. "Carbon monoxide. From the furnace he never fixed."

Mark's jaw tightened. He turned back to Henderson, and the quiet anger in his eyes was terrifying.

"You," he said, pointing a finger at Henderson's chest. "You did this."

The police officer holding Henderson's arm spoke up. "Sir, we have this under control. Please step back."

But Henderson saw an opportunity. He saw Mark's expensive work boots and clean jacket. He saw a man who looked like he had money.

"Under control?" Henderson sneered, shaking off the officer's hand. "This woman owes me back rent! And now, damages! The fire department's intervention, the emergency repairs to the lock, the broken shelf... that's all going on her bill. A very, very large bill."

He looked directly at Mark. "Unless, of course, someone wants to... settle this. Quietly. For, say, five thousand dollars. Cash. To cover the damages and the rest of her lease. Then she can be out by tonight, and we can all forget this unfortunate incident ever happened."

It was blatant extortion, right in front of two cops and a news camera.

I started to protest, but Mark held up a hand, stopping me. His face was unreadable.

He looked from Henderson's greedy face to my tear-streaked one. He looked at the shattered remains of Leo's childhood on my floor.

He took a deep breath. "Fine," he said.

"Mark, no!" I cried out. "We can't!"

"It's okay, Sarah," he said, his voice soft, but his eyes were like steel chips. He was thinking about Mom in the hospital. He was thinking about getting me and Leo out of this hellhole tonight. He was prioritizing our safety over everything else.

He reached for his wallet.

Henderson's smirk returned, triumphant. "A wise decision. Your sister here, she's all emotion, no logic. Good to see there's a sensible man in the family."

He gestured grandly at me. "See? This is what happens when you don't have a man to take care of you. You make a mess. You fall behind on bills. You let your kid run wild, breaking things..." He gestured at the floor, implying Leo was the one who broke the shelf. "It's a sad story, really."

The insult was too much. The lies, the greed, the smug sexism. Something inside me snapped. I was weak, I was scared, I was exhausted, but a fire was lit. My dad didn't raise a quitter. He was a union leader who fought men like Henderson his whole life.

I saw the building's old intercom panel on the wall near the stairs. It was an ancient system, but the "ALL-CALL" button was still there, used for fire drills. Without a second thought, I lunged for it. I slammed my thumb down on the button.

A loud screech of feedback echoed through the hallway, and I could hear it click on in every apartment. I leaned in, my mouth close to the speaker.

"This is Sarah Miller in 4C," I yelled, my voice raw and loud, amplified throughout the entire building. "My landlord, Mr. Henderson, is trying to extort five thousand dollars from my brother after his neglected furnace put my mother in the ICU with carbon monoxide poisoning! He is a liar and a predator who preys on the women in this building!"

I could hear doors opening on other floors. Voices murmured in the hallway below.

Henderson's face contorted in fury. "Turn that off, you crazy..."

He lunged for me, but Mark was faster. He blocked him with his body, a solid, immovable wall.

I kept yelling into the intercom. "He fixes things for men in hours but lets women live in hazardous conditions for weeks! He called me hysterical! He said my sick mother was faking it! He just destroyed my son's things! Don't let him get away with it!"

The world started to spin. The adrenaline that had been holding me together suddenly vanished. Black spots danced in my vision. The effort of the shout, the stress, the lack of sleep... it was all crashing down on me. I felt my knees buckle.

The last thing I saw before I fainted was Mark catching me, his face a mixture of fear and fierce pride, and the flashing red light of the news camera, still rolling.