Chapter 4

One of the seniors posted a photo of lunch: a small helping of yellowing greens, three chunks of plain boiled chicken breast with no seasoning at all, and two bowls of white rice.

"Geoff, this is what you call meat and vegetables? Didn't Evan tell you what our old meal standard was?"

Geoffrey replied with a half-hearted line: "It is meat and vegetables. This kind of pairing is for your own good."

"Evan always fed you cheap prepackaged meals. That's already done a number on your bodies. When you get old, too much nutrition just piles up because you can't metabolize it."

Hilda Swanson couldn't hold back any longer. She fired off a voice message: "You're going to starve us into malnutrition. Feed us this and we'll be lucky to make it to next year."

And before that storm settled, another broke. Grandpa Gilbert dropped a video into the group chat.

In the video, Geoffrey was at the farmers' market picking through the rotten vegetable leaves people had thrown out—he'd gathered a whole big bagful.

And in his other hand he was carrying a big bag of loose, frozen chicken breast.

The seniors lost it.

"Geoff, have some conscience in how you do things. Feeding these old bones stuff like that—aren't you afraid people will curse you behind your back?"

"No conscience at all, you wretch. I told you Evan was good, but no, you all had to switch."

Hilda Swanson was shaking with anger: "Either you improve our meals, or we switch back to Evan."

Geoffrey scoffed and sent an eye-roll emoji: "Evan's already been offended past the point of no return by all of you. Go find him, then! Fine, fine, I get it. I'll improve the meals tomorrow."

"Oh, and by the way—I deliver lunch and dinner together, so don't eat it all at lunch. You'll have to heat the rest for dinner."

For a moment the group chat was one long wail.

Geoffrey's whole routine had me laughing so hard I could barely breathe. Truly, it takes a scoundrel to torment a scoundrel.

Except I didn't get to laugh for long, because Geoffrey came knocking.

He showed up carrying two shriveled apples, and the moment he was through the door he opened my fridge, took out a bottle of water, and started drinking.

"Evan, you really dug me one hell of a pit."

"You've spoiled these old folks' palates rotten. You've got to help me out."

"At the very least you have to take the meals back over. I won't shortchange you—three thousand a month, that's generous enough, right?"

I just pointed at the door. "Out."

Geoffrey's face went ugly at once.

"If you won't, I can just move the seniors back myself. Thirteen apartments, remember!"

I'd barely finished speaking when Geoffrey gave a cold snort and left.

At least the way he saw it now, thirteen apartments was a business that returned a fortune on nothing.

But I never imagined he could be shameless to this degree.

At three in the morning, deep in the night, Geoffrey called me: "Mrs. Swanson upstairs from you has an upset stomach. Go buy some medicine and take it up to her."

"Why should I? Aren't those apartments yours now?"

I sneered and threw it right back at him.

"It's just running an errand, doing a favor. Do you have to be so calculating about it?"

I hung up without a second's hesitation and left him to sort out his own mess.

But I didn't expect Geoffrey to just post it in the group chat.

"Everyone, I only handle your two meals a day. That doesn't include running errands or delivering medicine. That's a separate charge."

The moment he sent it, Hilda Swanson—awake with her stomach hurting—blew up: "We gave you our apartments precisely so you'd care for us in our old age. What kind of attitude is this?"

Geoffrey didn't reply. He just let Hilda Swanson curse him out in the group chat half the night.

I stopped paying attention after that. What I didn't expect was that a week later, two police officers would knock on my door.