I shot back, "It's my garage. Why can't I have it opened?"
"But I paid to install that lock!" Beryl's voice climbed several notches. "I spent four thousand dollars on that lock. What gives you the right to break it?"
I stared at her, stunned.
Four thousand dollars?
I'd seen the same model online. Three hundred, tops.
"Mrs. Chavez." I kept my voice even. "This is my garage. You changed the lock without my permission. I haven't even come after you for that, and you think you're the one with a grievance?"
"You're really going to stand there and ask me what right I have?"
"Who says I didn't have your permission?" Beryl craned her neck forward. "You agreed to lend me the garage yourself. Of course I changed the lock. If something went missing, who'd be on the hook for that?"
I frowned. "I said you could borrow it for two days. You changed the lock and then wouldn't answer your phone. How is that reasonable?"
"I didn't see any calls."
Beryl turned her face away.
"I sent you messages and called you. You didn't pick up."
"I can't read, so I don't understand messages. And my phone was charging inside. I didn't hear it."
I wasn't about to waste more breath arguing. "Fine. Well, now you know. I'm having this lock opened."
"No, you're not." Beryl planted herself in front of the garage door, blocking Eddie. "I paid for that lock. Nobody touches it."
"This garage is mine."
"You lent it to me!"
"I lent it to you to park for two days. Not to change the lock."
"Two days? You said two years!"
Beryl's voice got even louder.
I stood there, completely floored.
Two years?
When had I ever said two years?
While we were locked in this standoff, the elevator opened and two more people walked over.
One was Damian Vance, the property management manager. The other was the security guard from earlier.
Damian approached with a practiced smile. "Ladies, ladies, let's all calm down. You're neighbors. Whatever the issue is, I'm sure we can talk it out."
"Mrs. Chavez, take a breath. We'll sort this out nice and easy."
"And Ms. Simmons, you're one of our residents too. You see each other every day. No need to let things get this heated."
Beryl curled her lip. "Perfect timing, Manager Vance. You tell me who's in the right here."
"This little girl lent me her garage, and I just spent four thousand dollars putting in a new lock."
"Now she wants to hire someone to break it open. Does that sound fair to you?"
Damian turned to me.
I walked him through the whole thing:
Beryl had asked to borrow the garage for two days. I agreed and gave her the passcode.
Three days later, I came back to find the lock replaced, couldn't reach her, and property management wouldn't do anything about it.
So I called a locksmith.
After hearing me out, Damian turned to Beryl. "Mrs. Chavez, the garage does belong to her. You probably should have given her a heads-up before changing the lock..."
"A heads-up for what?" Beryl cut him off. "She lent me the garage. It's mine to use. What's wrong with me putting in a lock?"
"I've got all my stuff stored in there. If anything goes missing, who's going to pay for it?"
Damian faltered, caught off guard. He let out a thin laugh.
Then he turned back to me. "Ms. Simmons, how about this: hold off on the locksmith for now, and let me go back and check the records."
"Once I confirm who the garage belongs to, then we can—"
"Confirm who it belongs to?" I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing. "The title deed is in my name. I bought the garage. What exactly is there to check?"
I pulled out my phone, brought up the purchase contract and payment records, and held the screen up for all of them to see.
"Right there. I paid fifty thousand dollars for this garage. Cash."
