"Open the damn door, Harper!"
The pounding rattled my apartment hard enough to shake the picture frame hanging above my couch.
I froze.
Every muscle in my body locked.
No.
No. No. No.
Not again.
Another bang echoed through the tiny apartment.
"Don't pretend you're not home!"
My heart slammed against my ribs. I glanced toward the door as if I could somehow see through it.
The voice belonged to Vince.
And Vince was not the kind of man you wanted showing up at your apartment at eight o'clock on a Tuesday morning.
Especially when you owed him money, a lot of money. I lowered myself slowly onto the floor behind my kitchen counter, holding my breath.
Pathetic.
Twenty-nine years old and hiding from debt collectors like a criminal. If my younger self could see me now, she'd probably cry.
Another round of pounding shook the door.
"Three days, Harper!" Vince shouted. "You hear me? Three damn days!"
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Please leave. Please just leave.
The silence that followed felt endless. Then finally, footsteps. A muttered curse, and the sound of someone walking away.
I didn't move for another full minute, two, three.
When I was certain they were gone, I carefully stood. My legs felt shaky. The apartment suddenly seemed smaller than usual, more cramped and suffocating.
Maybe because it wasn't really mine anymore.
A sharp knock sounded, I nearly screamed. Then I heard Mrs. Parker's voice.
"Harper? Honey?"
Relief flooded through me. I opened the door. My elderly neighbor stood there holding a grocery bag.
Her expression was full of concern.
"I saw those men again."
Great, the entire building probably had.
"They're just... people I know."
Mrs. Parker snorted. "Sweetheart, I'm eighty-two years old."
I winced. Fair point.
She handed me the grocery bag. "I made too much soup."
I looked inside. Vegetable soup, bread rolls. A container of cookies.
My throat tightened. "Mrs. Parker—"
"No arguments."
The old woman pointed a finger at me. "You've gotten too skinny."
I laughed despite myself. "I'm fine."
"You look exhausted."
"I'm fine."
She gave me a look that clearly said she didn't believe me.
The truth? I wasn't fine, not even close.
Three months ago, I had forty-seven thousand dollars in savings.
Three months ago, I thought my life was finally coming together.
Three months ago, I believed I was about to buy the house I'd dreamed about since I was twelve years old.
The beautiful white Victorian on Maple Street.
The one with the blue shutters, wraparound porch and porch swing.
The house I loved so much I could have drawn the floor plan from memory, then someone stole everything.
Forty-seven thousand dollars gone just like that.
The seller and company were fake. The entire deal had been one giant scam.
By the time I realized it, the money was already gone. And because I was an idiot, a desperate idiot, I hadn't just used my savings.
I'd borrowed money too.
A small amount at first, then more. Enough to make me physically sick whenever I thought about it. Now the scammers have disappeared, but the people I'd borrowed from hadn't.
Life was funny that way.
"Harper?" Mrs. Parker's voice pulled me back.
I forced a smile. "I'm okay."
She patted my arm. "You don't have to carry everything alone, dear."
If only that were true. After she left, I shut the door and leaned against it.
The apartment fell silent for about thirty seconds.
Then my phone started ringing again.
I looked at the screen to see Mom.
I answered. "Hi, Mom."
"Good news."
I blinked.
Good news? That would be a first.
"What happened?"
"I spoke to your cousin Melissa."
I immediately regretted answering.
I rubbed my temple. "Mom, not now."
"She knows a man."
I groaned. "Mom."
"Listen first."
"I already hate this."
"He owns a landscaping company."
"That's wonderful."
"He's single."
There it was.
I rubbed my forehead. "Mom, I am not dating a random landscaper."
"You haven't even seen his picture."
"I'm trying not to get murdered by loan sharks, can you not read the room?"
"You need a husband."
"I need money."
"A husband with money."
I stared at the ceiling.
Sometimes I wondered if we were having completely different conversations.
"You know what?" I said.
"I have to go."
"Harper—"
"Love you, bye."
I hung up immediately, before she could start planning my wedding.
My phone buzzed again, not Mom this time. An email, I opened it absentmindedly and froze. My landlord.
My stomach dropped, I opened the message.
'Due to the sale of the property, all tenants are required to vacate within thirty days…'
The rest blurred together.
Thirty days….thirty.
I read it twice, then a third time. As if the number might magically change, it didn't.
A laugh escaped me, a slightly hysterical laugh. Because apparently being financially ruined wasn't enough, now I was homeless too.
Fantastic!
Maybe the universe had a punch card. Get ten disasters and win a free mental breakdown.
I tossed my phone onto the couch and buried my face in my hands. For several minutes, I sat there thinking, panicking.
Thinking some more.
Then eventually I did what every emotionally stable adult does during a crisis. I opened a real estate app, I wasn't even sure why.
Habit, maybe. Self-destruction, masochism, one of those. Properties filled the screen, homes I couldn't afford. Apartments and townhouses I definitely couldn't afford.
Then something caught my eye, a new listing.
My finger stopped moving. The world seemed to pause because I knew that house.
The Victorian house.
My Victorian. Well, not mine. But somehow back on the market.
I stared at the screen, confused. The listing I'd fallen for had disappeared months ago.
Yet here it was again. Different agency, different contact information. Different realtor, but same house.
A chill ran down my spine.
How?
I clicked the photos. The kitchen, the staircase, the fireplace. It was definitely the same place.
My pulse quickened.
Questions crowded my head.
Had the scammer ever owned the property?
Was the entire thing connected?
Had I been the only victim?
Without thinking, I pressed the contact button. A message box appeared. My fingers moved before my brain could stop them.
'Hi. Is this property still available?'
The reply came less than a minute later.
'Yes.'
'Would you like to schedule a viewing?'
I stared at the screen.
I couldn't buy the house, I could barely afford groceries. But maybe...I could get answers. Maybe I could get my hands on the scammer. Maybe I could finally understand what happened.
Tomorrow. 4 p.m., I typed.
A response appeared immediately.
'I'll be there.'
For some reason, the words sent an odd shiver down my spine. As though the sender had been waiting for me. As though he already knew I would come.
I shook off the feeling and locked my phone.
Tomorrow didn't matter.
Right now I have bigger problems.
Three days before Vince came back. Thirty days before I lost my apartment. And exactly zero ideas how to fix either.
For the first time in my life, I had absolutely no plan.