He stumbled backward, crashing into the wall with a muffled grunt. Looking up, he saw Yasmin burning with fury. She had never looked angrier.

Caleb leaned against the wall, appearing intoxicated as he glared at Yasmin. "Drunken tool!" Yasmin spat, then turned and stormed out of the stairwell.

Outside her apartment, a plastic bag dangled from the doorknob. Yasmin hesitated briefly before grabbing it and stepping inside. She slammed the door shut and immediately locked it.

Brenda saw Yasmin anxiously lock the door. "What's wrong? You look like you're being chased by a ghost."

Yasmin considered her recent encounter as terrifying as meeting a ghost. Before she could respond, Brenda reached for the bag, pulling out the contents. She froze. Inside were containers of chicken noodle soup, an omelet, freshly cut fruit, and yogurt—a healthy, balanced meal curated for a seventy-year-old retiree.

Brenda was shocked. Where was her barbecue and crayfish?

"That guy is insane!" Yasmin seethed, recounting her run-in with Caleb. He had arranged the delivery and even asked someone to change the order. So much for high-end residences keeping unwanted visitors out. Nothing could stop Caleb.

Feeling annoyed, Yasmin called Harris. "Caleb is drunk and almost dead. He's outside my door," she said flatly, then hung up without waiting for a response.

Harris stared nervously at his phone. He turned to Caleb and said cautiously, "Mr. Grant, Mrs. Grant asked me to pick you up. She's still concerned about you."

Caleb, still leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, let out a soft laugh. "She's probably just afraid I'll actually die here."

Harris was surprised. How did they end up thinking the exact same thing? No wonder they were married.

"Did you find out who it was?"

Harris replied, "Not yet. But we traced the buyer's signal, and it came from Eunish."