Chapter 1

I spent every cent of my savings on a deeded parking spot and a brand-new car.

I had only picked up the car from the dealership a week ago.

My neighbor had been squatting in my spot for a long time, and when I found her car there again, I had no choice but to park in the temporary zone nearby.

She was actually offended by this and used her car keys to key the entire side of my vehicle.

The repair bill came out to thousands of dollars.

Instead of apologizing, she brought her relatives to my front door to harass me, trying to extort three thousand dollars from me instead.

1

It was the seventh day after I got my car.

A scratch nearly seven feet long appeared on the side of the body.

The metal primer was exposed from front to back, looking like a gruesome scar under the garage lights.

The technician at the dealership looked at it for a long time and said the repair would start at four thousand dollars.

I didn’t cause that scratch.

It was the woman living next door.

Everyone in the building called her Maddy.

She was in her early forties with a loud voice and a nasty temper.

She drove a white SUV but never parked in her own assigned spot.

Her spot was on the second basement level near the elevator, but she complained it was too much of a detour.

So, she constantly squatted in my spot on the first level.

I had bought that spot.

My name was right there on the deed in black and white.

It cost me thirty-five thousand dollars, which was every penny I had saved from three years of overtime.

The car was brand new too, with less than six hundred miles on the odometer.

The plastic protective film was still on the seats.

The night I found the scratch, I stood by my parking spot for a long time.

Then, I went upstairs and knocked on Maddy’s door.

She opened the door wearing a fuzzy fleece robe, holding a bowl of cherries.

After I explained why I was there, she spat a cherry pit into her hand without even looking away from the TV.

“So what if your car got scratched?

Who told you to stop me from parking there?

Your spot was sitting empty anyway, would it kill you to let me use it?

A single girl like you driving such a fancy car―if it’s scratched, it’s scratched.

It’s not like you don’t have the money to fix it. I think you had it coming.”

The door slammed in my face.

I stood in the hallway for a long time before moving my car to a spot covered by the security cameras.

I locked it and went back upstairs.

That night, I lay in bed and replayed the side-view footage from my dashcam several times.

The angle was tight, but it was enough to see someone walk past my car, lean down, reach out, and drag their hand along the side.

That was enough for me.