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

Marcus’s whisper chased her out of the building. You're nothing. She ran until her lungs burned, the cold city air biting through her wine-soaked uniform. She didn't stop at her apartment. She couldn't. She went to the only place open at 2 AM.

The pawn shop smelled of dust and desperation. The man behind the glass loupe didn't even look her in the eye.

"Gold's down," he grunted, tossing her mother's wedding ring onto the scale. "Two hundred."

"It's vintage," Elena pleaded, her voice cracking. "It's worth two thousand. Please. I need cash for a hospital deposit."

"Take it or leave it, lady. This ain't a charity."

She took it. Two hundred dollars. It was a drop in the bucket of her predatory lending nightmare, but it was gas money. It was food. It was survival for one more day.

She walked back to the skyscraper, the bills clenched in her fist. She was hollowed out. Sleep was a distant memory. She slipped into the employee break room, collapsing onto the vinyl couch. Her eyes closed against her will.

Just for a minute. Just a minute...

A bright light jerked her awake. She gasped, shielding her eyes. Marcus stood there, phone out, recording.

"Sleeping on the job?" he narrated for his followers. "Lazy help is hard to find these days. This is what I pay for?"

Elena scrambled up, terrified. The fear of losing the job spiked again, sharper than before.

"Post," Marcus said, tapping the screen. "Let the world see what a failure looks like."