Chapter 4

My mind went completely blank for a second. Then it all rushed back. Before leaving, my wife had nagged me multiple times to double-check the main water shutoff and the breaker box.

I had shut everything down myself. In fact, to reassure her, I had recorded a quick video clip on my phone. I unlocked my screen and scrubbed through the timestamped video—I was one hundred percent, beyond a shadow of a doubt, certain that I had turned off the main valve.

A terrible realization slammed into me. "Something's wrong. We need to get back there immediately!"

We hopped into the car and sped through the empty highways, rushing back to our complex. By the time we stepped off the elevator, several furious neighbors were already crowded in front of our door.

I apologized repeatedly while dialing 911. The moment I pushed our front door open, a massive wave of standing water surged out into the hallway. Looking inside at our brand-new apartment—the hardwood floors completely submerged, custom furniture soaked and ruined in the freezing winter air—my stomach dropped through the floor.

When the police arrived, the responding officer stared at me in disbelief.

"You again?!"

"Officer, I swear to you, I turned off the main water valve before leaving. There were no pipe bursts. Someone deliberately broke into my home and cranked every single faucet wide open!"

I held up the timestamped video from my phone. "I believe someone picked my lock and flooded my home on purpose."

The forensics officer dusted the handles and faucets for fingerprints, but came up empty. The surfaces were wiped clean. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing.

Fortunately, the neighbor living directly across the hall had recently installed a smart video doorbell. When we reviewed the cloud footage, a shadowy figure could be seen lingering by my door. Even though the man was bundled in a heavy jacket and wore a mask, I recognized those hateful, narrow eyes in an instant: it was Frank.

The police confronted him immediately. Frank shoved his hands into his pockets, sneering smugly: "Wasn't me. So what if I went upstairs? I just wanted to see if they were home. Is knocking on a door a crime now?"

Right then, the neighbor across the hall spoke up: "Yeah, I actually stepped out and told him you guys weren't home."

My fists clenched so hard my knuckles turned white. "So you confirmed the apartment was empty, waited until the hallway was clear, and picked my lock!"

"Don't go throwing false accusations around, buddy! Where's your proof?"

I was choked with rage. Frank looked positively thrilled with himself: "I told you it wasn't me! You cops can't just harass an innocent man! Show me the evidence!"

After signing the incident report, Frank strolled down the corridor, practically humming a tune. Before rounding the corner, he casually turned back and flashed me a triumphant middle finger.

Seeing his smug grin, my fingernails dug into my palms until they bled. I wanted nothing more than to tear him apart right then and there.

But I knew violence wouldn't solve this. Without undeniable proof, I was powerless.

My wife and I spent the rest of the night furiously bailing out water. By sunrise, the standing water was cleared, but the damage was done. The hardwood floors were warped beyond repair, the drywall was ruined, and the custom cabinetry was completely destroyed. The total property loss easily exceeded fifteen thousand dollars.

My wife sat curled up on the soaked couch, weeping uncontrollably. I stood there in the wreckage, a suffocating, murderous anger burning inside my chest.

In the building's WhatsApp group, Frank even had the audacity to share a celebration track titled: What a Wonderful Day!

Seeing that sickening post nearly made me see red. The downstairs neighbor approached me for water damage compensation, and I transferred him the money on the spot without arguing.

Looking at the devastation inside my apartment, the downstairs neighbor patted my shoulder sympathetically: "Man, you clearly crossed a real psycho. Be careful out there. What a miserable way to spend the holidays."

"You guys really need to swap out that standard deadbolt for a high-security smart lock, and get indoor cameras installed."

I nodded numbly. But living in constant paranoia wasn't a life. Upgrading my locks was a given, but there was no way in hell I was letting that scoundrel walk away scot-free.

I sent my wife back to stay safely with her parents, hired an independent insurance adjuster to evaluate the damage, and took a full week off work to hunt for evidence.

I refused to believe a reckless punk like him hadn't slipped up somewhere.

I met up with a close college buddy of mine who ran a popular digital media and true-crime channel. The moment he heard the story, he slapped his knee in excitement!

"Bro! This whole saga is pure gold! It's like something straight out of an investigative crime documentary!"

"Let me help you out. I guarantee we'll make this guy sweat bullets!"

Fight crazy with crazy. If legal red tape was slowing us down, public scrutiny would make him squirm!