Chapter 2After My Tenants Sued Me Into Bankruptcy, They Begged

The next day, the building’s group chat exploded.

Elias had posted a document titled: “A Proposal for the Improvement of The Haven’s Living Environment and Safety Standards.”

It was an eloquent, three-thousand-word manifesto, covering everything from fire safety and food sanitation to the terms of our contracts.

Every point was backed by legal precedent and screenshots of city ordinances.

He concluded with a few “proposals”:

First, he demanded that I dismantle all subdivided walls and restore the building to its original layout.

Second, he demanded that the gym and cafeteria be registered as commercial entities, with proper business licenses and health permits.

Third, he demanded that we sign new, “legally compliant” lease agreements, which would explicitly state that the gym and cafeteria were ancillary services provided free of charge.

The chat was flooded with messages of support.

“Go, Elias! You’re saying what we’ve all been thinking!”

“Housing justice! We’re not trying to get a free ride, we’re trying to get what’s right!”

“Honestly, I’ve always thought the cafeteria’s hygiene was a little sketchy.”

“Yeah, who’s responsible if we get food poisoning?”

I stared at the username of the person who complained about the cafeteria.

It was Leo, from the second floor.

Just yesterday at lunch, he’d bought four meals to-go, telling everyone it was for his girlfriend.

I turned off my phone, rubbing my temples.

That afternoon, I called Elias to my office.

He looked the same as always—gold-rimmed glasses, crisp white shirt, calm and polite.

“Clara. You wanted to see me?”

I placed a printed copy of his “Proposal” on the desk.

“Elias, before you wrote this, why didn’t you come talk to me first?”

He adjusted his glasses.

“Clara, this isn’t my personal opinion. It represents the collective demands of the majority of the tenants. I believe that initiating a discussion on a public platform is more efficient, transparent, and open than a private conversation.”

“Open and transparent?”

I held up the document.

“You’re demanding I tear down the walls. There are over fifty tenants living in those rooms right now. Where do you expect them to go? Have you thought about that?”

“That’s a problem for you, as the lessor, to solve. You could offer them a refund and compensation, or find them alternative housing.”

His answer was flawless, airtight.

“The gym and the cafeteria are perks I pay for out of my own pocket, free for everyone. Now you’re demanding I get business licenses. Do you have any idea what that entails? It means I’d have to pay substantial taxes, and subject myself to a barrage of regulations from health, fire, and business departments. Have you considered how much that would increase my costs?”

“Clara, they are not perks,” he interrupted, his tone hardening.

“When these facilities are tied to your rental business, they become part of a commercial service. Whether you charge for them or not, they must be legally regulated. This is to protect the rights of all of us as consumers.”

Consumers.

He used that word.

I laughed, a humorless, angry sound.

“So, while you all enjoy rent that is far below market rate, and use the gym and cafeteria I provide for free, you are now, in the name of being ‘consumers,’ demanding that I, the ‘operator,’ bear all the legal risks and operational costs?”

“Before the law, all are equal.”

He looked at me, his eyes devoid of warmth.

“Sentiment cannot supersede legal statute. When you first renovated this building, you should have anticipated these issues. All we are doing now is bringing things back into compliance.”

I took a deep breath.

I pointed to the stack of contracts on my desk.

“Every single person signed a disclosure form before moving in, acknowledging the renovations. It’s in black and white. They all agreed to it voluntarily.”

The corner of Elias’s mouth twitched into a barely perceptible smirk.

“Clara, you should know this better than I do. In contract law, there’s a concept known as an unconscionable term in a boilerplate contract. When such a term violates state-mandated regulations, or absolves the provider of their primary responsibilities while adding undue burden to the other party, that term is void.”

“Those ‘voluntary’ agreements you had them sign? They’re worthless in a court of law.”

There was a knock on the office door.

Mia, a girl from the fourth floor, peeked her head in, holding a lunchbox.

She saw Elias and looked awkward.

“C-Clara… I… I was just wondering if there was any of that braised pork left from dinner?”

Before I could answer, Elias turned to her with a warm smile.

“Mia, I’m just discussing the points we all raised with Clara. Don’t worry. We will absolutely fight to secure a safer and more hygienic dining environment for everyone.”

Mia blinked, then nodded vigorously.

“You’ve got this, Elias! We’re all behind you!”

She backed out, closing the door softly behind her.

She had forgotten she was there for food.

I looked at Elias, and a chill that had nothing to do with the evening breeze crept down my spine.