They Thought I Was A Janitor, Until I Refinanced The Skyscraper And Evicted Them

The orange sticker blurred as the rain began to fall, turning the city into a smear of grey and neon. Elena pressed her hand against the glass, but the security guard inside—Bill, who she’d shared coffee with for months—averted his eyes and pointed to the street.

Barred. Locked out of her own inheritance.

The phone line clicked. "All agents are busy," the voice chirped, followed by a disconnect tone. Elena stared at the screen. A text message banner slid down: STATE CARE FACILITY: Transfer initiated for Mr. Rossi. Insurance declined.

Her knees gave out for the second time that day. She sank onto the wet concrete of the sidewalk, the rain soaking through her thin jumpsuit instantly. She needed depression help, a miracle, or a winning lottery ticket. Instead, she had fifty-eight dollars and a dying father.

People stepped around her, their umbrellas forming a canopy of indifference. She was just another piece of debris on the pavement. She buried her face in her hands, the sobs ripping out of her chest, raw and ugly. She considered bankruptcy chapter 7, but that wouldn't save the tower. Nothing would.

A sleek black sedan purred to the curb, splashing a puddle near her boots. It wasn't a taxi. The rear window rolled down with an electric hum.

Elena looked up, wiping rain and snot from her face. She expected Marcus coming to gloat, to kick her while she was down. But the face in the window was older, sharper, with eyes like a shark scenting blood.

"Get in," the man said. "You look like you need legal aid, but I'm offering vengeance."