Chapter 3

The second those words left his mouth, the old man dramatically collapsed onto the floor, his entire body convulsing in exaggerated tremors.

I was floored. In all my life, I had never seen people act so shamelessly.

The son smirked triumphantly. "Well? Still wanna arrest someone?"

"My dad has severe hypertension, and you guys terrified him! You're paying for his medical bills, you hear me?!"

The officer's tone turned icy. "Vandalism and felony property damage apply regardless of age. If convicted, malicious destruction of property can carry prison time!"

"And if he suffers a medical episode, as his legal family, you are responsible for his conduct!"

Hearing that, the son's smirk faltered slightly. "Stop trying to scare me! It's just a couple of scratches on a car. How much could that piece of junk even be worth?!"

I offered a polite, chilly smile. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but it's an imported luxury trim. It's worth quite a bit."

"Not only are you going to pay for every cent of the damage, but you're also sending your own father into a jail cell. Good luck with that."

"Even if he's sick, he'll be processed through the system. At best, you'll be emptying your bank account on bail!"

That completely shattered their composure. The old woman suddenly bolted out of the apartment, hurling a heavy black plastic trash bag straight at my head!

"Pay you?! Pay you with my dead body! We don't have a single penny for you!"

I ducked swiftly out of the way. The bursting trash bag smacked squarely against the officer's chest, splattering rancid food scraps and disgusting mystery liquids all over his uniform.

That crossed the line. The cops snapped.

"Assaulting a police officer! Cuff her, now!"

The son froze in horror. Seeing the cuffs come out, the old man on the floor miraculously sprang back to his feet like a gymnast: "Don't you touch her!"

I burst out laughing. "Well, look at that! Pretty spry for an old man with a heart condition!"

The old man's face flushed crimson. The officers stepped forward, reaching for their handcuffs.

Panicking completely, the son began bellowing at the top of his lungs: "Police brutality! The cops are beating us up!"

His shrieking echoed through the hallway, drawing curious neighbors out of their apartments in droves.

Seeing an audience, both elderly parents threw themselves back onto the floor, rolling around and wailing. Without missing a beat, I pulled out my phone and began recording.

"Look at this, folks! Total deadbeats! Keyed a car, refused to pay, and now they're assaulting police officers and faking medical emergencies!"

My commentary drove the family into a frenzy.

The neighbors watching from down the hall began muttering in disgust:

"Man, they really have no shame, do they?"

"Fight crazy with crazy, bro! Don't let them bully you!"

"Living next to a family like that must be a living nightmare."

"I live right under them! They stomped and yelled all hours of the night. Please teach them a lesson!"

Glancing between the ridiculous spectacle on the floor and the furious officers, I tapped a button and launched a public livestream. "Everyone tune in! Entitled neighbors destroyed my car over a parking spot, and now the elderly parents are trying to scam the police! Documenting everything for the record!"

The 4K stream was crystal clear, though I intentionally blurred their faces slightly.

I wasn't about to give them an excuse to sue me for privacy violations, but the internet was sharp enough to piece together the truth.

Unable to take the humiliation any longer, the son snapped. He lunged straight at me, roaring, "I'll kill you! Turn that fucking camera off!"

I didn't flinch or fight back. I let him snatch the phone straight out of my hands and violently smash it into the concrete floor, shattering it into pieces!

I grinned. "Great. Add destruction of personal property to your rap sheet. You're going in too."

The shrill wail of backup sirens echoed from the street outside. The man stood paralyzed. The moment cold steel cuffs snapped around his wrists, all three members of the family were hauled away in custody. A chorus of cheers and quiet applause broke out among the gathered neighbors.

I followed the squad cars down to the precinct to file an official statement.

The preliminary repair estimate alone was twelve thousand dollars. I agreed to settle the claim for the car and the smashed phone for six thousand dollars.

At the station, Frank—the son's name—finally hit the ceiling. "Six thousand bucks?! Why don't you just rob a bank?!"

"I'm not paying! I'm broke! I'd rather rot in a cell than give you a single dime!"

Unbelievable.

The officer informed him that smashing my phone and attempting assault could land him in jail.

His parents were facing formal charges for assaulting a peace officer. Only when faced with real jail time did Frank reluctantly cave. After authorizing the settlement transfer, he glared at me with pure, unadulterated hatred: "You're dead, punk. This isn't over!"

I smirked right back. "I'll be waiting."

Little did I know, his retaliation would come fast and furious.

A few days later, over the weekend, I drove my wife over to visit her parents. After having a few drinks with my father-in-law, I decided to crash at their place for the night.

In the dead of night, my phone violently buzzed. It was my downstairs neighbor:

"Unit 1206, what the hell is wrong with you guys?! Did you leave your faucets running?! Water is pouring through my ceiling right now!"

I jolted awake, cold sweat instantly beading on my forehead. I apologized profusely.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry! We're driving back right this second!"

As I frantically threw my clothes on, my wife grabbed my arm, her voice trembling: "Wait... didn't you shut off the main water valve before we left? How could it possibly be leaking?!"