Chapter 3Paid, Evicted, Stripped Bare

After the initial explosion, my anger cooled quickly, settling into an icy resolve.

I had no time for grief or self-pity.

First thing: find an apartment.

I opened a rental app, set the filter to my office area, and specified “move-in ready, fully furnished.” I wouldn’t make the same mistake again, pouring my heart and soul into a space that wasn’t mine.

That afternoon, I contacted three agents and scheduled viewings for the evening.

Second thing: find some “helpers.”

On a local services app, I searched for one key phrase: “professional disassembly.”

Several companies popped up, their slogans a mix of promises.

“Moving, Disassembly, Recycling—One-Stop Service.”

“Expert Removal of Furniture, Cabinets, and Bathroom Fixtures. Guaranteed Intact.”

I clicked on the one with the highest ratings and dialed the number.

“Hello, I’d like to inquire about your disassembly services.”

“Hello, sir. What do you need disassembled?”

“Flooring, integrated kitchen cabinets, the toilet and vanity in the bathroom, and… the entire apartment’s heating radiators and pipes.”

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end.

“Sir, are you sure about this? Those are all permanent fixtures.”

“I’m sure,” my voice was flat, without a ripple of emotion. “I installed all of it myself. I have the right to take it with me.”

“…Very well, sir. Our workers are highly professional and can perform a non-destructive removal. However, the cost will be higher than a standard move.”

“Money is not an issue.”

I hung up, having scheduled them to come for the first round of disassembly over the weekend.

Only after arranging these two things did I start to pack my personal belongings.

I packed the books from my shelves, folded the clothes from my closet. My movements were methodical, like a well-oiled machine.

My phone rang. It was my colleague, Chloe.

“Brian, what’s for dinner? I found this amazing barbecue place!” her cheerful voice chirped.

“Not tonight, I have some things to do,” my voice was a bit hoarse.

Chloe immediately sensed something was wrong.

“What’s up? You sound like you’re on death’s door. Did something happen?”

I paused for a moment, then briefly explained the situation.

A roar erupted from the other end of the phone. “What?! That old bastard is something else! Kicking you out right after taking your heating money? He might as well just rob you!”

“I’m coming over this weekend! We’ll go give him a piece of our minds! If that doesn’t work, we’ll sue him!”

“Don’t,” I cut her off. “I can handle this myself.”

“Handle what? You’re just too nice, Brian! That’s why people walk all over you!” Chloe said, frustrated.

I leaned against the cold wall, looking at the half-packed boxes around me. My voice was soft but firm.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to let him get away with it.”

Chloe was quiet for a moment, seeming to process my words.

“…Brian, don’t do anything stupid.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

After hanging up, I surveyed the “home” I had built with my own hands. My gaze swept from the bookshelf to the wardrobe, to the curtains, and finally landed on the vibrant green pothos.

My expression hardened.

I took a tape measure from my toolbox and extended it with a sharp snap.

The cold metal tape gleamed.

I began to measure every piece of furniture I had bought, recording the dimensions down to the millimeter.

This was a war.

A silent, one-man war.

And I would be the only victor.