Chapter 4: The Unfixed Scar

One year later, Leo had settled into the rhythm of his new life on the twenty-eighth floor. The morning coffee ritual, the evening gym sessions, the weekend grocery runs—all maintained with the same precision that had characterized his decade in 32B. The only difference was the occasional encounter with Marcus or Isabella in elevators and hallways, moments that had evolved from awkward to genuinely uncomfortable for the Thornes.

Elara had become a regular presence in his life, their professional collaboration gradually expanding into something that felt like genuine friendship. They met weekly in the library, ostensibly to discuss the ongoing investigation into Marcus's rental practices, but their conversations had begun ranging far beyond legal strategy.

"We're up to nine confirmed victims now," Elara said during one of their Thursday evening sessions, adjusting her glasses as she scrolled through her ever-expanding files. "The pattern is remarkably consistent. Average theft of thirty-two hundred per victim over five years."

Leo looked up from his laptop, where he'd been designing a website for a boutique hotel chain. "Any word from the federal prosecutor's office?"

"They're interested, but they want more evidence before they commit resources." Elara's expression showed her frustration with the pace of official justice. "White-collar crime investigations move slowly, especially when the amounts seem small by federal standards."

"Twenty-eight thousand dollars isn't small," Leo said quietly.

"No, it's not. But it's not enough to make headlines, either." Elara closed her tablet with a slight snap. "Sometimes I think the only justice people like Marcus understand is the immediate kind."

Leo nodded, understanding her frustration. The legal wheels turned slowly, while Marcus continued his business as usual, probably already planning his next victim. The thought bothered Leo more than he cared to admit.

The call came on a Tuesday morning in November, exactly one year after Leo's eviction. He was reviewing color palettes for a client presentation when his phone rang with a number he didn't recognize.

"Is this Leo Vance?" The voice was young, stressed, tinged with an accent Leo couldn't immediately place.

"Yes, this is Leo."

"My name is Dmitri Petrov. I got your number from Mrs. Gable. She said you might understand my situation with Marcus Thorne."

Leo set down his stylus and gave the call his full attention. "What can I help you with, Dmitri?"

"I am—was—renting unit 32B from Mr. Thorne. The apartment you used to live in." Dmitri's English was precise but careful, as if he was translating each phrase before speaking. "He has evicted me, and now he refuses to return my deposit."

Leo felt something cold settle in his stomach. "When did this happen?"

"Last week. He gave me thirty days' notice two months ago, said he needed the apartment for family use. But yesterday I saw workers there—not family. They are converting it to an office."

An office. Leo's mind immediately flashed to the building's rental regulations, which strictly prohibited commercial use of residential units. Marcus wasn't just stealing deposits—he was violating his lease agreements with the building itself.

"Dmitri, are you free to meet this afternoon? I think we should talk in person."

They met in the lobby at three o'clock. Dmitri turned out to be a slight young man in his twenties, with the kind of nervous energy that came from being in a foreign country without much money or many options. He worked as a software developer for a startup, he explained, and had been living in 32B for eight months before Marcus decided he needed it for other purposes.

"The damage list," Dmitri said, pulling out a printed spreadsheet that looked disturbingly familiar. "Three thousand two hundred dollars. For scratches and dents that were already there when I moved in."

Leo studied the document, noting the identical formatting, the same creative categorizations, even some of the same supposed damages he'd been charged for a year earlier. Marcus had refined his system into a template.

"Do you have photos from when you moved in?" Leo asked.

Dmitri nodded eagerly. "Many photos. I am very careful about these things. My previous landlord in Boston tried similar tricks."

As Dmitri scrolled through his phone, showing Leo dozens of carefully documented images, a plan began forming in Leo's mind. Not the slow, methodical legal strategy he'd been pursuing with Elara, but something more immediate and personal.

"Dmitri," Leo said carefully, "would you be willing to do me a favor? It might help both of us."

"What kind of favor?"

"Call Marcus. Tell him you left something important in the apartment and ask if you can retrieve it tonight. Something that would require him to let you inside."

Dmitri looked puzzled but nodded. "I can do this. But why?"

Leo smiled, feeling the same cold clarity he'd experienced during Marcus's fraudulent inspection a year ago. "Because I want to see what he's done with the place."

At eight o'clock that evening, Leo stood in the hallway outside 32B, listening to Dmitri's conversation with Marcus through the door. The apartment key felt strange in his hand—Elara had obtained it through perfectly legal channels, citing an ongoing investigation that required evidence preservation.

"Yes, Mr. Thorne, I understand it is inconvenient," Dmitri was saying, his voice carrying the kind of apologetic deference that Leo recognized from his own past interactions with Marcus. "It is my grandmother's ring. Very important to my family."

Leo heard Marcus's irritated response through the door, followed by the sound of footsteps. When the door opened, Marcus appeared in casual clothes, looking exactly as self-important as Leo remembered.

"Make it quick," Marcus was saying. "I have people coming early tomorrow to finish the installation."

Leo stepped into view from around the corner, his movement casual but perfectly timed. Marcus's face went through a series of expressions—surprise, confusion, and finally something approaching panic.

"Hello, Marcus," Leo said pleasantly. "Dmitri mentioned you might be here. I hope you don't mind me stopping by."

Marcus looked between Leo and Dmitri like a man trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. "I... what are you... why are you here?"

"Dmitri is a friend," Leo said, stepping past Marcus into the apartment. "We were having coffee when he remembered about his grandmother's ring. I offered to walk up with him."

The apartment was chaos. Leo's former home had been stripped of all residential character and converted into what was clearly intended to be commercial office space. Desks lined the walls, computer equipment sat in boxes, and electrical cables snaked across the hardwood floors. The kitchen had been converted into a break room, and the bedroom was filled with filing cabinets and office supplies.

But what caught Leo's attention immediately were the walls and doorframes. Every surface that Marcus had claimed to repair—every dent, scratch, and mark that had justified his theft of both Leo's and Dmitri's deposits—remained exactly as it had been a year ago.

"Interesting renovation," Leo said, running his finger along the dented doorframe that had cost him eight hundred dollars to "repair." "Very professional."

Marcus followed his gaze and visibly paled. "Those are... we're still working on the cosmetic details."

"Of course," Leo agreed, pulling out his phone. "I hope you don't mind if I take a few photos. I've been thinking of converting my new place into a home office, and this is quite inspiring."

"No!" Marcus said sharply, then caught himself and forced a smile. "I mean, the space isn't really ready for... it's not photogenic yet."

But Leo was already moving through the apartment, documenting everything with methodical precision. The same scratches in the hardwood that had cost Dmitri six hundred dollars. The same wall scuffs that had justified four hundred in "touch-up painting." The same carpet stains that had required "professional deep cleaning."

None of it had been repaired. None of the damage had been addressed. Marcus had simply collected thousands of dollars for repairs that existed only on fraudulent spreadsheets.

"Found it!" Dmitri called from the bedroom, holding up a small ring box with theatrical relief. "Thank you so much, Mr. Thorne. I am very grateful for your understanding."

Marcus nodded absently, his attention fixed on Leo, who was still photographing the apartment with the calm thoroughness of a crime scene investigator.

"Leo," Marcus said, his voice tight with barely controlled anxiety, "I think you've seen enough."

Leo looked up from his phone, where he'd just captured a particularly clear image of the dented doorframe alongside the damage report Marcus had provided a year earlier. "You're right. I think I have."

As they walked toward the elevator, Leo could feel Marcus watching them from his doorway. The man's guilt was practically radiating through the hallway, and Leo knew that sleep would not come easily to the Thorne household tonight.

"What now?" Dmitri asked as the elevator doors closed.

"Now we call Elara," Leo said, scrolling through the photos on his phone. "I think she's going to be very interested in these images."

An hour later, the three of them sat in Leo's apartment, Elara's laptop open on the coffee table as she compared Leo's new photographs with the damage reports from both his and Dmitri's cases.

"This is it," she said, her voice tight with excitement. "This is exactly what we needed. Concrete proof that the alleged repairs were never performed, that the damage charges were completely fraudulent."

She pulled up a federal statute on her screen. "Mail fraud, wire fraud, and now we can add breach of building regulations for the illegal commercial conversion. The federal prosecutor is going to love this."

Dmitri looked between them with growing understanding. "There are others like us?"

"Nine confirmed so far," Elara said. "And after tonight, I think we'll find more. Marcus has been running this scam for years, but he's gotten sloppy."

Leo stood at his window, looking up toward the penthouse where Marcus and Isabella were probably trying to figure out how much trouble they were in. The answer, he reflected, was more than they could possibly imagine.

"How long before we can file charges?" Leo asked.

"Criminal charges will still take months," Elara said. "But civil suits? We can file those next week. And with this evidence, we can probably get emergency injunctive relief to freeze his assets."

Leo nodded, feeling the satisfaction of a plan coming together perfectly. Marcus had made the crucial mistake of continuing his fraudulent practices, apparently convinced that his victims would remain isolated and powerless.

He had underestimated the power of community, the persistence of justice, and the long memory of a man with nothing but time and patience.

As Elara and Dmitri discussed legal strategies, Leo's phone buzzed with a text from Mrs. Gable: Heard there was some excitement upstairs tonight. Everything proceeding according to plan?

Leo smiled as he typed his response: Better than planned. The scar never healed.

The ghost next door had found his smoking gun.