Scanning the room, a strange gleam flashed in Diane’s eyes.
"Alright, since everything here was bought with my family’s money, I won’t be polite anymore."
She barged into my walk-in closet, slung several designer bags over her shoulder, and muttered, "Let me collect some interest first."
She crammed one bag full of jewelry, then began piling on all the pieces she could find, wearing rings, necklaces, and bracelets like trophies.
Neighbors followed her inside, ransacking the place and taking whatever they pleased.
I was shoved and lost my footing, collapsing to the ground.
All I could do was watch helplessly as Diane slashed my sofa open with a knife and smeared ink all over my walls.
"You’re trespassing. I’m calling the police!" I shouted.
"Go ahead. If this house was bought with my money, then it’s mine. I have every right to be here. Let’s see who the police arrest first."
Wrapped in coats and jewelry like a bloated caricature, Diane shuffled out, dropping items as she went. She spat in my direction.
"Now you know not to steal from me. This is your lesson. You better return the money—fast."
She left, arrogant and unrepentant, surrounded by neighbors who seemed more like accomplices than witnesses.
Some were still chatting as they walked off, smug satisfaction on their faces.
"We’re just doing what’s right."
"Helping others really lifts your spirits."
"She deserves to lose everything she stole."
...
I sat on the floor, trembling in anger as I looked at the wreckage.
But more than the damage, what crushed me was betrayal.
I’d always tried to be kind, helping my neighbors whenever I could.
Just last month, Aunt Foster came to me in tears, and I lent her 50,000 dollars without hesitation.
Now, she was among the first to speak against me, twisting the story to support their false accusations.
I forced myself up, grabbed my phone, and started recording everything—every mess, every scratch.
Then I rushed to my room and pulled the memory card from the surveillance camera.
Preserving this evidence was the only way to fight back.
With the footage secured, I couldn’t wait. I went straight to the office to confront Calvin.
"Hey, look who’s here—the thief herself. Feel guilty and ready to pay me back?"
Calvin looked at me with smug confidence, like a victor taunting the defeated.
I ignored his mocking tone and held my phone up to his face.
"Did you tell your wife to come to my house and create that scene?"
He blinked innocently.
"What are you talking about? Maybe she was just worried about her mom and lost her temper. If you just return the money, she’ll calm down."
His colleagues chimed in, too.
"Vanessa, how can you be so cold? His mom’s in the hospital, his wife just scolded you a bit, and now you’re coming here to make a scene?"
I turned off the video playback. It was clear I wouldn’t get any truth from them, so I went straight to the facts.
"Fine. Do you want evidence? I’ll give it to you now!"
"This is the bank transfer record from my account to Calvin."
I held out my phone so everyone could see the screen clearly.
"Move aside! Make room!"
Lena suddenly charged over with a stack of documents and deliberately slammed them into my hand.
The phone flew from my grasp, tumbling down the stairwell—crashing into pieces at the bottom.
Lena smirked, the corners of her mouth curled into a proud grin.
"I barely touched you. How did your phone fall like that? Now that you have no evidence, you’re trying to blame me?"
My fists clenched. I stared at her coldly.
"The guilty always reveal themselves. It doesn’t matter—I still have a computer. The data must be synced there."
Without another word, I turned back and headed straight for my desk to boot it up.
