The VIP Landlord

Chapter 1: The Wrong Guest

"Don't move or make a sound if you still want to see the sunrise tomorrow morning."

The threat was whispered so close to Colter Burke’s right ear, a split second before the cold edge of a tactical blade pressed right against his Adam's apple. Colt was forced to hold his breath and flatten his back against the dusty concrete wall of the third-floor corridor. In front of him, Ines Mercer stood in the dim hallway, her hair slightly damp from the lingering rain outside, staring at him with a pair of flat, expressionless eyes that told Colt she wasn't joking.

Colt slowly raised the black leather-bound ledger in front of his chest, trying to show that his presence tonight was strictly business. "I just came to collect the monthly rent, Ines. You're three days late based on our agreement."

Ines eyed the ledger for a few seconds, then slowly retracted the folding knife back into the sleeve of her long black coat. "Your money is ready inside. Come in, but make sure you don't touch anything on the table."

Colt exhaled a long breath, rubbing his stiff neck, and followed Ines into Room 301. The moment the heavy wooden door shut tight, the pungent, metallic stench of fresh blood hit his nose. The living room was pitch black because the curtains were deliberately drawn shut, leaving the faint streetlights outside as the only source of light filtering through the fabric.

In the middle of the room, Colt gasped as he saw the silhouette of a large man lying face down on the carpet. A long rifle equipped with a sound suppressor lay just inches from the man's stiff right hand.

Colt reached into his jacket pocket, touching the folded copy of his grandfather’s will that he had received from the lawyer's office when he was officially appointed to manage this place a week ago. The secret note on the back of the document instantly echoed in his mind. His grandfather, who turned out to be a former founder of the global criminal organization The Syndicate, had set an extreme condition: Colt had to maintain this apartment for one hundred days without a single tenant moving out, getting caught by the law, or dying. His grandfather had intentionally gathered the world's most wanted fugitives on this third floor, not to protect them, but to force them into becoming a living shield to protect Colt from The Syndicate just to save their own skin.

"You said you worked as a freelance translator when you first signed up here," Colt said, pointing at the body on the floor with his pen, trying to suppress the rising panic in his chest.

"I do work as a translator," Ines replied casually as she walked toward the small kitchen to wash the red stains off her hands. "But occasionally, I also take jobs to translate death orders into reality. This man jumped from the back balcony a few minutes ago, so I was forced to defend myself."

Colt braced himself to approach and knelt beside the body. He turned over the intruder's jacket collar and found a small barcode tattoo on the back of his neck.

"This is bad," Colt whispered, standing back up with a wave of anxiety. "This is the mark of a professional cleaner faksi from out of town. They never work alone. If his crew finds out he died inside our apartment, this place will be surrounded in no time."

"So what are you going to do now?" Ines leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing her arms. "If you call the cops, they'll raid this entire building. I don't think the neighbors next door would appreciate having their rooms searched by federal agents."

Colt fell silent, knowing she was right. In Room 302 was Linus Floyd, a fugitive hacker wanted by the feds, while in Room 303 was Harlan Montgomery, a former government official hiding from the law. If even one tenant got caught or fled because they felt the building was compromised, his grandfather's will would be void, and his own life would be ended by his grandfather's enemies. For the past week, Colt had only watched them from behind the manager's desk on the ground floor, but tonight, he was forced to step into the eye of the storm to take control.

"We need to get rid of this body right now before anyone else sees it," Colt said, walking to the window to ensure the street below was clear. "There's an old trash chute at the end of the hall that connects directly to the incinerator in the basement. That machine can destroy anything without leaving a trace."

"Destroying it isn't the problem, Colter," Ines interrupted, walking toward the front door. "How do we carry a hundred-kilogram body out of this room without getting caught by the corridor's surveillance cameras? Those cameras feed directly to the law firm supervising your job."

Colt reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his worn-out phone. "The camera system can be handled, but we need help from someone who knows how to breach this building's network fast."

"You mean the kid next door?" Ines asked.

"Linus Floyd. He owes me a favor because last week I didn't report his room's abnormally high electricity usage to the city inspectors," Colt replied, opening the door cautiously. "Wait here and make sure no stains leak onto the corridor floor. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Colt walked quickly toward Room 302, his heart pounding in his chest. He knocked on the door with a specific pattern written in his grandfather's notes—two short knocks followed by one long knock.

The door swung open just seconds later, and Linus Floyd appeared with an exhausted face and messy hair. His room was a chaotic maze of a dozen glowing computer monitors lining the walls.

"If you're here for the internet bill, I already wired it this afternoon, Colt," Linus said in a groggy tone, preparing to shut the door.

Colt immediately held the door open with his hand. "An armed intruder tried to kill Ines in Room 301, and now he's dead on her floor."

Linus’s lazy demeanor vanished instantly, his face turning dead serious. "Are you kidding me? Did anyone else see him enter the building?"

"Only one guy made it in, but we need to move the body to the basement right now before a patrol car passes by," Colt said firmly. "I need you to loop the footage for the third-floor corridor and the freight elevator for five minutes so we can pass."

Linus cursed under his breath, walking back to his desk and typing rapidly on his mechanical keyboard. "This building's security encryption is tight, Colt. If I force it down, the central computer at your lawyer's office will receive an anomaly alert and they'll send an enforcement team here immediately."

"If you don't help us right now, the cops will show up anyway and we'll all end up in a federal prison by morning," Colt countered, standing right beside Linus's chair.

Linus took a deep breath and hit enter on his keyboard. "I've set up a looped footage that will run for the next four minutes. Once that timer hits zero, the system resets automatically. You need to move now."

"Thanks, Linus," Colt said, running back to Room 301.

Inside the room, Ines had already wrapped the large man's body in a thick plastic tarp. Together, they struggled to haul the heavy weight out of the room and down the dimly lit hallway in a frantic rush.

Colt kept glancing at the camera mounted on the ceiling, praying Linus's loop wouldn't crash halfway through. Cold sweat poured down his face from the sheer weight of the panic.

They finally reached the old manual freight elevator. Colt slid the steel gate open, and together they shoved the tarp-wrapped bundle down the dark chute. A heavy thud echoed from the basement floor below, signaling that the body had reached the disposal unit.

Colt slammed the steel gate shut and checked his watch. Thirty seconds left before the cameras went live again.

"Not bad for an amateur," Ines said, adjusting her slightly disheveled coat.

But before Colt could answer, the heavy, measured sound of footsteps echoed from the emergency stairwell at the other end of the hall. Someone was walking up to the third floor, unhurried and calm.

Colt and Ines exchanged a panicked glance. Ines instinctively reached back for her knife, while Colt tried to steady his posture to avoid looking suspicious.

The stairwell door opened, and an old man in a pristine, tailored grey suit stepped out. He held a silver-headed cane in his right hand and a black leather briefcase in his left.

It was Mr. Henderson, the head attorney managing Colt's grandfather's estate. According to the schedule, he wasn't supposed to arrive until tomorrow morning for his first weekly audit.

Mr. Henderson walked closer, his steps halting right on the concrete floor between Colt and Ines. He lowered his gaze to the floor, spotting a tiny, fresh red droplet that had been missed during the cleanup.

Mr. Henderson tapped the tip of his silver cane right on top of the bloodstain, then looked up into Colt's eyes with a cold smile that sent a chill down the corridor.

"I came early to review the financial ledgers, Colter. But seeing this fresh stain under your shoe, it seems you're busy managing something far more interesting than just rent money." Mr. Henderson paused for a moment, leaning in closer. "So, who did you just throw down there?"