Chapter 5 - The Locks are Changed
By 1:00 PM that afternoon, I arrived at my true sanctuary: my two-bedroom luxury corner apartment overlooking the Mississippi River in downtown St. Paul.
The apartment was filled with natural light, featuring floor-to-ceiling windows, exposed brick walls, and custom hardwood shelving I had designed myself. It was the physical manifestation of my hard work, my late nights at the architecture firm, and my independence.
Standing in the hallway outside my front door were two locksmiths and a private security team I had hired through Clara’s firm.
Within thirty minutes, the old locks were drilled out and replaced with military-grade biometric smart locks requiring a fingerprint and an encrypted passkey. High-definition security cameras were installed above the doorframe and along the interior entryway, broadcasting live feeds directly to my phone and a 24/7 monitoring agency.
"All set, Mrs. Moreau—sorry, Ms. Lin," the lead security technician said, handing me the sleek black keycards. "No one gets through this door unless you personally authorize them on the app."
"Thank you," I said, tipping them generously before closing the heavy oak door behind them.
I locked the door, slid the deadbolt into place, and stood in the quiet warmth of my home. For five years, Jackson had constantly criticized this space. He called it "too small," "impractical," and complained that it didn't reflect the grand lifestyle his family deserved. He had spent years trying to convince me to sell it so we could buy an overpriced mansion in Hidden Hills near his parents.
Now, standing here alone, I realized why he hated it so much: this apartment was a constant reminder that I didn't need him. It was proof that I was whole long before I ever met him.
My phone chimed on the granite kitchen counter. It was a text message from an unknown number.
I opened it. It was a photo of a handwritten letter from Genesis:
Maya, you have brought shame upon our family. Jackson is suffering in a cell because of your pride. If you do not drop these ridiculous charges and release the hold on our accounts by 5:00 PM today, I will make sure everyone in the architectural community knows what kind of cold, heartless monster you really are. You will never work in this city again.
I stared at the screen, a cold smile touching my lips. Genesis was so accustomed to getting her way through intimidation and social stature that she couldn't see she was handing me the rope to hang her with.
Instead of replying, I took a screenshot of the message, uploaded it directly to the secure portal shared with Clara and Detective Ramirez as evidence of a restraining order violation by a third party, and blocked the number.
Ten minutes later, my personal email pinged.
It was an official notification from the Senior Partners at Vanguard Architectural Group, where I had worked as a Senior Project Architect for six years.
Dear Maya, We have received multiple distressed phone calls from a Mrs. Genesis Moreau regarding an ongoing legal matter. Given the nature of her allegations and the potential publicity, the Executive Board requests your presence in the Main Conference Room tomorrow at 8:00 AM to discuss your standing with the firm.
I leaned against the counter, tracing the smooth marble surface. Genesis thought she had fired a kill shot by targeting my career. She thought I would panic, drop the charges, and run back to her begging for mercy.
May you like
What she didn't know was that two weeks ago, I had finalized the registration for my own independent design firm, Lin Architecture & Urban Design, and my biggest client—a twelve-million-dollar riverfront commercial development—was bound to me personally, not to Vanguard.
"You brought a knife to a gunfight, Genesis," I whispered to the empty room. "And you didn't even check who owned the armory."
