Chapter 4

"Hi Ethan, this is corporate customer service, agent ID 6847. We received a client complaint and need to verify some details with you."

The next morning, this call woke me up.

"What's the complaint?"

"Mr. David Harrison from the Waterfront project called. He reported that Tyler Sterling from the East Coast branch has been repeatedly harassing him to alter signed contract terms. Mr. Harrison explicitly stated he only recognizes the contract signed by you and refuses any changes."

I sat on the edge of my bed, my bare feet touching the cold hardwood floor.

"And how is corporate handling this?"

The agent paused. "We notified the East Coast branch manager, Richard Sterling. His official response was that this is an internal adjustment. He said the client is just unfamiliar with the new broker and needs time to adjust."

Internal adjustment.

Three months ago, when a client complained about a padded contract, Richard used the exact same excuse.

"So you're just closing Mr. Harrison's complaint?"

"The current directive is to let the branch manager handle it locally."

The branch manager was Richard.

The fox was guarding the powerhouse.

"Right. Got it."

I hung up and splashed cold water on my face. My phone buzzed again.

Lily.

"Ethan, we have a major problem."

"What happened?"

"Tyler went through your cubicle this morning. He copied all your backup client files and even pried open your locked drawer to take your black notebook—the one where you keep all your client notes."

The towel in my hand slipped into the sink.

That notebook was three years of my life.

What kind of coffee each client liked, their kids' birthdays, their preferred layouts, which days to avoid calling them—over a hundred clients, all detailed in my handwriting.

"Who authorized him to break into my drawer?"

"Richard did. He escorted Tyler himself, saying that since you abandoned your job, any personal belongings left behind became company property."

My knuckles popped as I clenched my fists.

"Ethan, there's more," Lily's voice dropped to a whisper. "Tyler is using your notes to call your clients. He saw the note on Mrs. Bennet’s file—the one saying 'Daughter is taking the SATs next month, keep stress low, don't talk about college prep'—and he literally laughed out loud in front of everyone."

"Laughed?"

"He said, 'Ethan actually wrote down client kids' exam schedules? No wonder he couldn't close real volume, focusing on useless garbage.' Then he called Mrs. Bennet right there. The first thing he said was, 'Mrs. Bennet, I hear your daughter is taking the SATs. Honestly, even if she fails, buying a premium property is better than any Ivy League degree anyway.'"

I closed my eyes.

Clara Bennet's daughter was dealing with severe anxiety. Clara had told me multiple times how terrified she was for her daughter’s mental health.

"What did Clara say?"

"She slammed the phone down and immediately called corporate to file a complaint. Ethan, she was crying on the phone."

I stood in my cramped bathroom, the tap running loudly, but my mind was completely silent.

"Ethan? You there?"

"Yeah."

"When are you going to fix this? Everyone in the office is disgusted, but no one dares to speak up. Richard made it clear in yesterday's meeting that anyone caught talking to you would be fired on the spot."

"Don't take any risks, Lily. Delete my contact."

Silence for a few seconds.

"Ethan, you're the best broker I've ever met. You don't deserve this."

The line went dead.

I turned off the faucet.

The face in the mirror looked exhausted, dark circles bruised under my eyes from lack of sleep.

My phone lit up.

It was a post on Tyler's Instagram.

A picture of him sitting at my old desk, his feet up, flipping through my black notebook.

The caption: "Hitting the books. 📚"

I stared at the photo for a full minute.

Then, I opened a hidden folder on my computer. Inside was a digital copy of every single note I had ever made. They had only stolen paper; the real weapon was backed up in my cloud.

My phone rang.

My dad.

"The corporate audit team is leaving this afternoon. They will arrive tomorrow morning. One last check—is the evidence complete?"

"Yes. Kickbacks, padded contracts, fake invoices, and recorded client complaints. Three years' worth, without a single gap."

A brief pause.

"Are they still harassing the clients?"

"Yes. They're falsifying contracts as we speak, inflating the square footage to steal more money."

My dad's voice was flat, but I could hear the dangerous edge to it.

"Perfect. Fresh crimes are much easier to prosecute than old ones."

"Dad, they brought a client to tears today."

Five seconds of silence.

"After tomorrow, nobody will be crying but them."