1

Someone was about to kick my gate in.

I was crouched in the dirt, covered in mud, tending the rare flowers I'd been growing for four years.

"Open up! Hey, lawn girl, are you deaf?"

My new neighbor Sophie stood outside with her husband, David Miller.

She wore heavy makeup, and the second she saw me, she pinched her nose in disgust.

"You again? God, you stink. Where the hell is your boss?"

This was the fifth day in a row she'd pounded on my gate.

I brushed the dirt off my hands.

"I've told you again and again. I'm the owner. If you have something to say, say it."

Sophie burst out laughing as if I'd told the funniest joke she'd ever heard.

"David, did you hear that? If she owns this place, I'm the Queen of England!"

David looked me up and down with open contempt.

"I already looked it up. The owner lives in Europe. You're just the caretaker they hired to watch the house. Quit pretending."

He pulled out a wad of cash and slapped it against his palm.

"I'm about to be named vice president at Vaughn Realty. I'm throwing a party on Sunday to do some networking, and my backyard's too small."

He pointed the cash at my backyard.

"I'll have workers knock down the wall between us and open it up. Here's $2,000 as a deposit. On Sunday, you come serve drinks and wash dishes, and I'll give you another $3,000."

Sophie chimed in. "$5,000! That's more than you'd earn digging in the dirt for half a year. Your boss isn't here, so as long as you keep your mouth shut, it's free money. Aren't you going to thank Mr. Miller?"

I looked at the cash David was holding out. It was ridiculous.

His appointment as vice president of Vaughn Realty was sitting on my desk, waiting for my final approval.

The paperwork wasn't even final, and he was already acting like a big shot.

I'd put aside my company work and stayed here for months to get my flowers ready to represent the country at next week's London flower show.

And to them, I was just some caretaker they could boss around?

I took the cash.

David grinned, pleased with himself.

"That's more like it. Poor folks who know their place are the only ones who last around here..."

I threw the cash in his greasy face.

"This house is mine. Touch my yard, and you'll pay more than you can afford.

"Take your money and get out."

I chased them off with my shovel. Sophie kept cursing at me from the other side of the gate.

"You little bitch, you thieving squatter, just you wait!"

The next day, I turned on the faucet to water my flowers.

A trickle of rusty water sputtered out, then stopped. Every light in the house went dark too.

Someone had pried open my breaker box, and my water valve had been welded shut.

A notice stuck to it read, "Lot Eight is suspected of illegal power use. Water and electricity have been shut off indefinitely, effective immediately."

And outside my front gate, someone had dumped three bins of rotting food waste.

The leftovers baked in the blazing sun, drawing swarms of flies to my gate.

On her second-floor balcony next door, Sophie held a coffee cup and watched me as if I were putting on a show for her.

When she saw me standing in front of the garbage, she spoke loudly enough for me to hear.

"Property management here is so on top of things! Some thieving maids deserve to get their water and power cut. She smells like a garbage dump anyway. She and that trash are a perfect match."

I swallowed my anger, took photos of everything, and called Carl, the community's property manager.

"Carl, who authorized you to weld my water valve shut? And what's with the garbage at my gate?"

Carl didn't sound the least bit sorry.

"Mr. Miller oversees all the landscaping and security contracts for the whole estate. He's a big shot, and he reported that you're ruining the look of this luxury community. We're just following the rules.

"You're just the help. Why pick a fight with Mr. Miller? Clear out the yard tomorrow, and we'll turn your water and power back on and haul away the garbage. Keep talking back, and I'll bring a crew over this afternoon to tear the place down."

I looked up at Sophie, gloating on her balcony.

"Carl, you're the property manager here. Do you even know what this estate is called?"

Carl snorted on the other end.

"Obviously. Stirling Estates, the most exclusive neighborhood around! Why? You're a maid, and you think you can scare me by dropping the big boss's name?"

"Lot Eight is registered with the land office and the HOA under one code, ST-001. I'm the owner. Lana Stirling."

Carl acted like I'd told him a hilarious joke.

"Don't try to scare me with some made-up code! Anybody can steal a last name. If that's how it works, I'm Carl Stirling."

I didn't want to waste any more breath on him.

"Fine, Carl. Remember every word you said today."