Chapter 3: The Devil's Gambit

The research phase had always been Kaelen's favorite part of any campaign. In Silicon Valley, he'd spent countless hours dissecting competitors' business models, finding the single thread that, when pulled, would unravel their entire operation. Corporate warfare had taught him that the most devastating attacks never looked like attacks at all—they looked like inevitable consequences of poor decisions.

Mr. Banyu was about to become a case study in that philosophy.

Kaelen sat in his study, surrounded by printouts of municipal records, property assessments, and building inspection reports dating back fifteen years. His three dogs had claimed their usual positions around the room—Rex at his feet, Titan by the window, and Bear sprawled near the door. They'd learned to recognize when their master was in full predator mode, and the mansion's atmosphere had taken on the electric tension of a storm about to break.

The water theft was just the beginning. Like an archaeologist uncovering layers of history, Kaelen had methodically excavated the full scope of his neighbor's negligence and corner-cutting. What he'd discovered was a property management disaster waiting for the right catalyst.

"Look at this," he murmured to Rex, though the German Shepherd's attention was fixed on something only he could hear. "Electrical inspection from 2008. The inspector noted 'numerous code violations requiring immediate attention.' Guess what was never fixed?"

The records painted a picture of systematic neglect masquerading as frugal property management. Banyu had converted his family home into rental units using the cheapest possible methods, ignoring safety codes and proper permitting. The electrical system was a nightmare of jury-rigged connections and overloaded circuits, held together by electrical tape and wishful thinking.

More damning were the tenant complaints filed with the city's housing authority over the years. Frequent power outages. Blown fuses. Outlets that sparked when appliances were plugged in. Each complaint had been dismissed when Banyu provided minimal temporary fixes, but the underlying problems remained like a cancer eating away at the building's infrastructure.

The man was running a tinderbox and charging people to live in it.

Kaelen's phone buzzed, interrupting his research. The caller ID showed a number he didn't recognize, but something made him answer.

"Mr. Vance? This is Eleanor Chen. I believe you recently purchased the Victorian mansion on Elm Street?"

"That's correct." Kaelen's voice was cautious but polite.

"I'm the daughter of the previous owner. My father passed away six months ago, and I've been handling his estate. I hope you don't mind me calling, but I wanted to warn you about something."

The conversation that followed removed any lingering doubts about the path Kaelen was contemplating. Eleanor Chen painted a picture of her elderly father being systematically harassed and manipulated by his neighbor. Banyu had made multiple attempts to purchase the Victorian at below-market prices, citing imaginary structural problems and fabricated environmental hazards. When the old man refused to sell, Banyu had turned vindictive.

"He tried to claim adverse possession of part of our garden," Eleanor's voice carried years of accumulated frustration. "Said his family had been using it for decades, which was complete nonsense. Then he started filing noise complaints about my father's dog—a twelve-year-old golden retriever who barely had the energy to bark at squirrels."

"I'm sorry you had to deal with that," Kaelen said, though his tone suggested he was filing away every detail.

"The worst part was the water issue. About two years ago, my father started complaining about low water pressure. We had three different plumbers check the system, but they couldn't find any problems with our internal plumbing. Now I'm wondering..."

"If your neighbor found an alternative solution to his utility bills?"

Eleanor's sharp intake of breath confirmed his suspicion. "You've noticed it too?"

"I've noticed several things," Kaelen replied carefully. "Your father sounds like he was a good man who deserved better neighbors."

After ending the call, Kaelen stared at the accumulated evidence spread across his desk. This wasn't just about stolen water anymore. This was about a pattern of predatory behavior targeting vulnerable people—elderly homeowners, struggling tenants, anyone Banyu perceived as unable to fight back effectively.

The man was a parasite in the truest sense, surviving by draining resources from those around him while contributing nothing of value. In the corporate world, Kaelen had specialized in identifying and eliminating such entities before they could cause systemic damage.

The solution, when it came to him, was elegant in its simplicity.

Banyu's electrical system was already a disaster waiting to happen. The jury-rigged connections and overloaded circuits created a delicate balance that could be disrupted by any number of factors. A sudden spike in demand. An unexpected power fluctuation. Or, most relevantly, a water pump running dry and straining against air-filled pipes.

Kaelen pulled up the municipal water system maps on his laptop, cross-referencing them with the acoustic data he'd gathered. The illegal connection to his water line fed directly into Banyu's main distribution system, which in turn supplied the electric water pump in the basement. If that supply were suddenly interrupted—say, by someone legally shutting off water to their own property for maintenance—the pump would run dry.

A dry-running pump would overheat. An overheating pump would draw excessive current. Excessive current through Banyu's already-overloaded electrical system would trip breakers, blow fuses, and potentially cause cascading failures throughout the building.

The beauty of the plan was its complete legality. Kaelen had every right to shut off water to his own property. He had every right to perform maintenance on his own systems. If his neighbor's illegal connection suffered as a result, well, that was simply an unfortunate consequence of theft.

"Elegant," he said aloud, causing Rex to lift his head inquirively. "Completely legal, entirely predictable, and utterly devastating."

He spent the next two days refining the plan, running simulations and contingency analyses with the same thoroughness he'd once applied to hostile takeovers. The timing would be crucial—it needed to happen when maximum disruption would occur, when the electrical system would be under peak stress from normal usage.

Thursday evening would be perfect. The tenants would be home, using lights, appliances, and electronics. The building's ancient electrical system would already be straining under normal load. A water pump running dry would provide exactly the additional stress needed to trigger a cascade failure.

Kaelen prepared his equipment with the methodical precision of a surgeon. A simple valve wrench would shut off the main water supply to his property. A portable generator would ensure his own systems remained unaffected during the "maintenance." Security cameras would document his perfectly legitimate activities while remaining blind to anything happening on neighboring property.

As he made his final preparations, Kaelen felt the familiar calm that had always preceded his most decisive business moves. There was no anger now, no frustration about stolen water or petty neighborhood disputes. There was only the cold satisfaction of a perfectly engineered solution to a clearly defined problem.

Mr. Banyu had built his comfortable lifestyle on a foundation of theft, negligence, and exploitation. He'd targeted people he perceived as weak, stealing from those he assumed wouldn't fight back effectively.

Tomorrow night, he would discover what happened when you made that mistake with someone who understood the true nature of power—not the crude force of physical intimidation, but the surgical precision of systematic destruction.

The parasite was about to learn that some hosts bite back.

Rex stretched and yawned, settling into his evening position by his master's feet. Outside, the first lights were beginning to flicker on in Banyu's boarding house, each bulb drawing current through wiring that was about to face its ultimate test.

Kaelen smiled, the expression containing no warmth whatsoever. In less than twenty-four hours, his quiet suburban street would become a classroom, and Mr. Banyu would receive an education in the cost of underestimating the wrong person.

The lesson would be thorough, devastating, and completely legal.

Just the way Kaelen preferred his revenge.