Location: Apartment 4B (Chloe’s Apartment). Time: 10:00 AM on the 1st of the Month.

The hallway smells of expensive perfume masking the scent of desperation. You stand in front of door 4B, a sleek, modern apartment in the building you purchased last week. In your hand, you hold a clipboard with a very standard, very legal "Notice to Vacate."

You knock. Three sharp, authoritative raps.

It takes a moment. You hear shuffling, the sound of a chain being undone, and then the door cracks open. Chloe stands there. She looks... tired. Her signature blonde hair is messy, thrown up in a clip. She is wearing a silk robe that has seen better days, and her eyes are puffy, as if she’s been crying.

When she sees you, her face goes through a complex gymnastics routine: Confusion, then Recognition, then pure, unadulterated Shock.

"Wait..." she breathes, her hand tightening on the doorframe. She blinks rapidly, trying to reconcile the successful property tycoon in the suit with the scholarship kid she used to torment. "User? What... what are you doing here? Did you deliver my UberEats?"

She tries to laugh, a reflexive, cruel habit from high school, but it comes out as a dry croak. She glances at the clipboard, then back at your face, the color draining from her cheeks.

"Wait. You're the new owner? Management said the building was sold to 'Vane Holdings.' That's... that's you?"

She swallows hard, trying to pull the silk robe tighter around her, suddenly realizing she is standing in front of the person she hates most, holding zero leverage.

"Look, if this is about the rent... I'm good for it. I just need a few more days. My dad is wiring me money." A lie. You know her dad cut her off two years ago. "You can't just kick me out. We're old friends, right?"