Chapter 3: The Ghost Next Door

Three days after Isabella's humiliating retreat from the lobby, Leo stood in the leasing office of The Zenith, watching Amanda Rodriguez, the building's rental manager, flip through a thick folder of available units.

"You're sure you want to stay in the building?" Amanda asked, her perfectly manicured eyebrows raised in polite confusion. "After everything that happened with the Thornes?"

Word traveled fast in The Zenith. Leo wasn't surprised that the building staff had heard about his situation—Mrs. Gable's network was remarkably efficient.

"I like the building," Leo said simply. "The location works for my business, and I'm familiar with the amenities."

What he didn't say was that leaving would feel like surrender, like allowing Marcus and Isabella to drive him away from a community he'd grown to value more than he'd realized. The past few days had shown him something unexpected: he wasn't just a tenant here. He was a neighbor, a member of something larger than himself.

Amanda nodded and pulled out a floor plan. "We have a one-bedroom on the twenty-eighth floor. Same layout as your old unit, southeast corner. The view isn't quite as spectacular, but—"

"I'll take it," Leo interrupted.

Amanda blinked. "Don't you want to see it first? Discuss the lease terms? The rent is actually two hundred more than what you were paying Marcus."

"That's fine." Leo had already calculated the additional cost against the satisfaction of what he was planning. It was worth every penny.

Two weeks later, Leo stood in his new apartment—28B—watching the afternoon sun stream through windows that faced the exact same direction as his old unit nine floors above. The layout was identical: open-plan living area, bedroom with en-suite bathroom, small but efficient kitchen. Even the hardwood floors were the same honey-colored oak.

It was perfect. Unsettlingly, almost unnervingly perfect.

He'd barely finished arranging his furniture when the first encounter occurred. The elevator doors opened on the thirty-second floor—his old floor—and Leo found himself face-to-face with Marcus Thorne.

Marcus froze, his key card halfway to the reader that would unlock access to the penthouse level. His face cycled through several expressions: surprise, confusion, and finally something that might have been fear.

"Leo," Marcus said, his voice unnaturally high. "I thought you... I mean, didn't you move out of the building?"

"I moved out of your unit," Leo replied pleasantly. "I quite like the building itself."

The silence stretched between them as the elevator rose past Leo's new floor. Marcus kept glancing at him sideways, as if Leo might suddenly vanish or reveal himself to be a hallucination brought on by guilty conscience.

"So you're... you're still living here?" Marcus asked.

"Twenty-eighth floor now. Same corner unit, actually. Remarkable how similar the layouts are." Leo's voice carried no particular emphasis, but Marcus flinched as if he'd been slapped.

The elevator reached the penthouse level with a soft chime. Marcus practically lunged for the doors as they opened, then turned back with the kind of manic smile people wear when they're not sure if they're awake or dreaming.

"Well, that's... that's great. Great to have you as a neighbor still. Maybe we'll run into each other more often."

"I imagine we will," Leo said as the doors began to close. "The building isn't that large."

Marcus's face disappeared behind the closing steel, but Leo caught a glimpse of his expression—the look of a man who'd just realized his comfortable world had shifted in ways he didn't understand.

Leo pressed the button for the twenty-eighth floor and smiled to himself. The game was more enjoyable than he'd expected.

The encounters multiplied over the following weeks. Leo, who had always been a creature of routine, found himself maintaining the exact same schedule he'd kept for ten years. Morning coffee at seven-thirty in the building's café. Evening gym session at six. Weekend grocery runs on Sunday afternoon.

The only difference was that now, instead of returning to 32B, he disappeared into an elevator that took him to 28B—a unit that Marcus had probably never realized existed, despite owning property in the same building for years.

Isabella was the first to crack.

Leo was checking his mail in the lobby when she appeared beside him, her usual designer perfection slightly frayed around the edges. Her hands shook slightly as she sorted through her letters, and Leo noticed dark circles under her eyes that her concealer couldn't quite hide.

"Leo," she said, her voice artificially bright. "How funny running into you here."

"Not that funny," Leo replied mildly. "I live here."

Isabella's laugh sounded like breaking glass. "Yes, of course. It's just... well, it's quite a coincidence, isn't it? Staying in the same building after... everything."

Leo closed his mailbox with deliberate precision and turned to face her fully. "Is it a coincidence? I was under the impression that people generally stay in places they like, leave places they don't."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Isabella's face went through a series of micro-expressions as she processed what he might mean.

"Of course," she said finally. "It's just that most people, when they have an... unpleasant experience... they might want a fresh start somewhere else."

"My experience wasn't unpleasant," Leo said conversationally. "It was educational. I learned quite a lot about the people I was living among."

Isabella's composure cracked visibly. "Leo, if there's some misunderstanding about the deposit—"

"No misunderstanding at all," Leo interrupted gently. "Everything was very clear. Thirty-eight hundred and forty-seven dollars for damages that existed before I moved in. Marcus was quite thorough in his documentation."

Isabella flinched at the number. Leo noticed she kept glancing around the lobby, as if afraid someone might overhear their conversation. The past few weeks had not been kind to the Thornes' social standing in the building.

"I should go," Isabella said abruptly. "Marcus is waiting for me."

As she hurried toward the elevator, Leo called after her. "Please give Marcus my regards. Tell him I said hello."

Isabella's shoulders hunched as if she'd been struck. The elevator doors closed on her stricken face, and Leo allowed himself a moment of quiet satisfaction.

The psychological pressure was building exactly as he'd hoped. Every chance encounter in the hallway, every shared elevator ride, every glimpse of him in the lobby or café served as a reminder of their betrayal. He had become their guilty conscience made manifest, a walking reminder of their greed and deception.

But the real breakthrough came when he met Mrs. Gable's granddaughter.

Leo was in the building's small library—a forgotten amenity tucked away on the mezzanine level—when a young woman entered carrying an armload of legal textbooks. She had short, stylish hair and wore glasses that somehow made her look both professional and approachable.

"You must be Leo," she said, settling into the chair across from his table. "Grandmother's told me quite a lot about you."

Leo looked up from his laptop, where he'd been working on a client's website design. "You have the advantage of me, I'm afraid."

"Elara Gable," she said, extending her hand with a firm, confident grip. "Eleanor Gable's granddaughter. I'm a lawyer—tenant rights and contract law, primarily."

Leo felt something shift in his chest—a spark of possibility he hadn't expected. "Tenant rights. How appropriate."

Elara's smile was sharp and intelligent. "Grandmother thought we might have things to discuss. She's been keeping me updated on your situation with the Thornes."

"Has she now?" Leo closed his laptop, giving Elara his full attention. "And what's your professional opinion?"

"My professional opinion is that Marcus Thorne is a small-time predator who's gotten away with theft because his victims don't fight back." Elara adjusted her glasses in a gesture that somehow managed to be both scholarly and fierce. "My personal opinion is that he picked the wrong victim this time."

Leo felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun streaming through the library windows. "What makes you say that?"

"Because you didn't leave," Elara said simply. "Most people would have taken their pittance and disappeared, too embarrassed or too tired to make waves. But you're still here, living nine floors below the people who robbed you, serving as a daily reminder of their guilt."

She leaned forward, her eyes bright with interest. "That takes either remarkable stupidity or remarkable patience. And from what Grandmother tells me, you're not stupid."

Leo found himself smiling—really smiling—for the first time in weeks. "Your grandmother is a perceptive woman."

"She's also a strategic one," Elara said. "She thinks you're playing a longer game than most people realize. Are you?"

The question hung in the air between them, loaded with possibility. Leo studied Elara's face, noting the intelligence in her eyes, the way she held herself with quiet confidence, the hint of steel beneath her professional demeanor.

"What if I were?" he asked carefully.

Elara's grin could have lit up the entire mezzanine. "Then I'd say you might be interested in some of the research I've been doing on tenant fraud cases. Particularly the civil remedies available when landlords engage in patterns of deceptive practices."

"Patterns?" Leo repeated.

"Oh yes," Elara said, pulling a tablet from her bag. "Grandmother's network is remarkably thorough. We've identified at least six other tenants who've been victimized by Marcus Thorne's creative damage assessments over the past five years. Similar amounts, similar pretexts, similar refusal to provide proper documentation."

Leo felt his pulse quicken. "Six others?"

"That we know of so far," Elara said. "I suspect there are more. The thing about small-time fraudsters is that they rarely stop at one victim. They develop systems, refine their techniques, get bolder over time."

She swiped through several screens on her tablet, showing Leo a collection of documents, photos, and correspondence. "The beautiful thing about living in the digital age is that people document everything. Text messages, emails, photos of alleged damages. Marcus has been remarkably careless about creating evidence of his own fraudulent practices."

Leo stared at the screen, seeing his own experience reflected in case after case of Thorne's systematic theft. The amounts varied, but the pattern was unmistakable: inflated damage claims, vague documentation, pressure for quick resolution, and victims who were too isolated or intimidated to fight back.

"This is..." Leo began, then stopped, overwhelmed by the implications.

"This is a federal case waiting to happen," Elara finished. "Mail fraud, wire fraud, racketeering if we can establish the pattern clearly enough. The civil penalties alone could be substantial."

Leo looked up from the tablet to find Elara watching him with intense curiosity. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because I hate bullies," Elara said simply. "And because Grandmother likes you. But mostly because Marcus Thorne represents everything I despise about landlord-tenant relationships—the abuse of power, the exploitation of people's need for stability, the assumption that ordinary folks won't fight back."

She adjusted her glasses again, and Leo found himself oddly charmed by the gesture. "Plus, this could be a career-making case if we handle it right. Pro bono work that results in major civil penalties and maybe criminal charges? That's the kind of thing that gets you noticed in the legal community."

Leo felt something he hadn't experienced in years: the thrill of finding a true partner, someone whose skills complemented his own, whose interests aligned with his goals. Elara wasn't just offering legal assistance—she was offering strategic alliance.

"What would you need from me?" he asked.

"Everything," Elara said promptly. "Documentation, correspondence, photos, recordings if you have them. Plus access to the other victims we've identified. Building a pattern of fraud requires evidence, and evidence requires cooperation."

Leo nodded slowly, his mind already working through the possibilities. "And the timeline?"

"That depends on how patient you are," Elara said. "We could file civil suits immediately, but criminal cases take time to develop. Federal prosecutors don't move unless they're confident of conviction."

"I'm very patient," Leo said.

Elara's smile was brilliant. "I was hoping you'd say that."

As they shook hands across the library table, Leo felt the second phase of his campaign clicking into place. The social pressure had been satisfying, but legal consequences would be permanent. Marcus and Isabella Thorne had no idea what was coming for them.

That evening, Leo stood at his window watching the sun set over the city, his phone buzzing with a text from Mrs. Gable: How did you like my granddaughter? I thought you two might have things in common.

Leo smiled as he typed his response: We understand each other perfectly.

Nine floors above, he could see lights coming on in the penthouse unit where Marcus and Isabella were probably settling in for another evening, blissfully unaware that their past victims were no longer scattered and isolated.

The ghost next door had found allies.

And ghosts, Leo reflected, were much more dangerous when they stopped haunting alone.