That was when my sister lost control.
She stormed into the hallway while a young couple was discussing where they might put a crib.
“You’re standing in my room.”
The woman blinked.
“Oh. Sorry.”
“You should be.”
The husband frowned.
Melissa stepped between them.
“Tessa, we discussed this.”
“No, you discussed it. I never agreed.”
“This is a scheduled showing.”
“This is my home.”
Melissa remained calm.
“The property is listed for sale.”
“I don’t care.”
The husband looked at his wife.
They left.
Melissa called me.
“Ian.”
“I’m guessing something happened.”
“You need cameras.”
“I have exterior cameras.”
“Interior common areas, if legal and properly disclosed. Ask Nathan. Because I’m documenting everything from this point forward.”
That same evening, someone keyed my car.
Not at the house.
At my restaurant.
A long silver scratch ran from the rear passenger door almost to the front wheel.
