Chapter 4: Judgment Day

Inspector Maria Santos arrived at 428 Maple Street at exactly 9:00 AM Thursday morning, stepping out of a city vehicle with the methodical precision of someone who'd seen every possible housing violation in her fifteen-year career. She was a compact woman in her forties, wearing steel-toed boots and carrying a tablet that looked like it had survived several small wars.

Liam met her at the building's front entrance, his comprehensive dossier tucked under his arm. He'd spent the morning preparing for this moment, arranging for Mrs. Rodriguez and the other tenants to be available if needed, and mentally rehearsing the tour route that would showcase the building's most egregious violations.

"Mr. Carter?" Santos extended a work-weathered hand. "I received your report. Quite thorough."

"Thank you. I wanted to make sure you had all the relevant information."

Santos pulled out her tablet and scrolled through what Liam recognized as his forty-seven-page documentation. "I've got to say, in fifteen years of doing this job, I've never received a complaint this well-organized. Most people send me three blurry photos and expect miracles."

"I'm a graphic designer. Documentation is part of my training."

"Lucky for the city." Santos looked up at the building's facade, already making notes on her tablet. "Those front steps are a lawsuit waiting to happen. Let's start there."

The inspection began with Santos confirming what Liam had already documented—cracked concrete, loose handrails, and uneven surfaces that violated accessibility standards. But as they moved through the building, something shifted in the inspector's demeanor. What had started as routine verification of reported problems became something more intense.

"Jesus," Santos muttered, photographing the basement's exposed asbestos insulation. "When was this building last inspected?"

"According to city records, three years ago. The inspector noted several issues but they were never addressed."

Santos's expression darkened. "Three years ago, this would have been a violation. Now it's a felony-level health hazard." She took multiple photos from different angles, her movements becoming more urgent. "Mr. Carter, I need you to understand something. What you've documented here isn't just a slumlord cutting corners. This is criminal negligence."

They moved systematically through the building, Santos measuring, photographing, and cataloging each violation with the thoroughness of someone building a legal case. The blocked fire exit drew an audible gasp. The jerry-rigged electrical panel prompted a phone call to the fire department. The roof leaks and structural water damage had Santos taking measurements and making calculations on her tablet.

"The main support beam here," she said, pointing to a section of the basement ceiling that sagged visibly. "It's been compromised by water damage. This entire section of the building could be structurally unsound."

Mrs. Rodriguez met them at her apartment door, clearly nervous but determined to show Santos the mold problem in her bathroom and the painted-shut fire escape window. The elderly woman's hands shook as she pointed out the maintenance requests she'd submitted over the past two years, all ignored.

"Ma'am," Santos said gently, "you shouldn't be living with these conditions. This mold is a serious health hazard, and that blocked window is a fire code violation that could get someone killed."

By the time they reached Liam's apartment, Santos was no longer just documenting violations—she was building a case for immediate action.

"The electrical outlet that sparks," she said, testing it with a small device that immediately began beeping warnings. "This is a fire hazard. And this window—" She struggled with the warped frame that wouldn't close properly. "Complete failure of weatherproofing standards."

The bathroom fan that hadn't worked in three years prompted another series of measurements and photos. The water damage from the burst pipe, still visible despite Liam's cleanup efforts, got special attention.

"You said the landlord refused to pay for this repair?"

"Told me it was my responsibility and hung up on me."

Santos shook her head, making additional notes. "Emergency repairs to the building's plumbing system are absolutely the landlord's responsibility. Making tenants pay for structural maintenance is illegal."

The inspection took four hours. When Santos finally closed her tablet and turned to face Liam, her expression was grim.

"Mr. Carter, I've been doing this job for fifteen years. I've seen some bad landlords, some dangerous buildings. But this..." She gestured around the building. "This is systematic negligence on a scale that borders on criminal. Your landlord hasn't just ignored maintenance—he's actively endangered lives."

"What happens now?"

"Now I write a report that's going to ruin Silas Croft's day. We're talking about forty-three distinct code violations, including several that require immediate remediation. The structural issues alone are going to cost him tens of thousands to fix properly."

Santos pulled up a calculator function on her tablet. "Let's see... emergency electrical work, asbestos removal, plumbing overhaul, structural repairs, mold remediation..." She tabbed through several screens. "Conservative estimate? Sixty to eighty thousand in required repairs, plus fines of five hundred to two thousand per violation, per day until they're corrected."

Liam felt a cold satisfaction wash over him. "How long does he have to fix everything?"

"For the life-safety issues—electrical, structural, fire hazards—he's got seventy-two hours or I shut the building down. For everything else, thirty days." Santos looked directly at him. "Mr. Carter, you saved lives today. If there had been a fire with that exit blocked and those windows painted shut..."

She didn't need to finish the sentence.

As Santos packed up her equipment, Liam walked her back to her vehicle. The inspector paused before getting in, studying the building one more time.

"Your landlord is going to receive my report this afternoon. Fair warning—men like Croft don't usually take this kind of news well. They tend to blame the messenger rather than accepting responsibility for their actions."

"I'm moving out next week anyway."

"Smart man. But Mr. Carter?" Santos started her engine. "Don't let him intimidate you. What you did here was absolutely right, and if he tries to retaliate, you call me immediately. I've got contacts in every relevant city department."

Santos drove away, leaving Liam standing in front of 428 Maple Street with a sense of completion he hadn't felt in years. Every crack in the pavement, every broken window, every safety hazard he'd documented was now part of an official city report that would force Croft to face consequences for his negligence.

The satisfaction lasted exactly six hours.

Liam was packing books in his apartment when his phone rang. Croft's name appeared on the screen, and for a moment, Liam considered letting it go to voicemail. But curiosity won out.

"Carter!" Croft's voice exploded through the phone with barely controlled rage. "You son of a bitch! You think you can destroy my business with your lies and bullshit complaints?"

"Mr. Croft, I simply reported actual conditions—"

"Actual conditions? Actual conditions?!" Croft's voice rose to a roar. "I've been managing properties for twenty-five years! I know what I'm doing, and I don't need some little computer nerd telling me how to run my buildings!"

"The city inspector seemed to disagree."

The line went quiet for a moment, and when Croft spoke again, his voice had dropped to something more dangerous than shouting—a cold, controlled fury that made Liam's blood run cold.

"You want to play games, Carter? Fine. We'll play games. You're out of that apartment tomorrow. Not next week, not when your lease says—tomorrow. I don't care what lawyers you've got or what reports you've filed. This is my building, and you're done."

"You can't—"

"Watch me."

The line went dead.

Liam stared at his phone, his satisfaction from the morning's inspection quickly fading into concern. Croft sounded unhinged, beyond rational thought or legal consequences. Men that angry, that desperate, were capable of almost anything.

He called Ava Chen immediately.

"He's desperate," she said after Liam recounted the conversation. "The city report probably hit him like a freight train. Sixty thousand in repairs plus daily fines? That's enough to bankrupt most small landlords."

"But he can't actually throw me out tomorrow, right?"

"Not legally. But Mr. Carter, desperate people don't always follow the law. Document everything, keep your phone charged, and if he shows up making threats, call the police immediately."

As Liam hung up, he realized the war with Croft had entered a new phase. The cold, methodical documentation and legal maneuvering were over. Now it was personal, immediate, and potentially dangerous.

He looked around his apartment—at the boxes half-packed, at the evidence of three years of his life in this place—and made a decision. He'd finish packing tonight. Whatever Croft was planning, Liam would be ready for it.

The final battle was coming, and Liam intended to win it.