Kicked Out of Property Management, Owners Regret It Badly

Crestview Estates owed us 0-0.5 million in unpaid fees over ten years.
They used all our services while secretly refusing to pay. A lawsuit went nowhere.
I met their leader privately. He promised full payment by months end.
On that day, our office belongings were dumped in the lobby.
I went to see Mark Hanlon, the residents new leader.
Mark, have we offended someone? All our things are thrown out.
He took a slow drag. Claire, we talked. Ten years of fees at once is too much.
He smirked. Anything you can do, we can do ourselves.
Heres the deal: 0-000,000 clears the debt. Take it or leave it.
My silence filled the room.
I hardened. Professionals exist for a reason. You can manage yourselves. But the debt is owed.
Mark threw his glass at my feet. There are hundreds of us. Well drag this out forever. Youll be bankrupt first.
Dont like our offer? Get out. We dont need you.
I nodded slowly.
Fine. When this place falls apart, dont come crawling back.
Whoever crawls back is the pathetic one!

1
I returned to the lobby to find my staff picking their personal items out of the heap on the floor. A crowd of residents stood around, gloating. Someone was humming a cheerful tune.
"Heard the news! She didn't take the deal. That means no more HOA fees for us!"
"Exactly! We can just look out for each other. Management just leeches off us anyway. Without us, they're nothing!"
"Right? And those key fobs that only let you go to your own floor, and having to sign in guests at the front gate? Such a pain. It's all just for show!"
"She got too greedy. A woman's job, anyway. Mark can do it better. We can just vote on whatever we want to change. We're all owners and managers now. Let those parasites find real jobs!"
Mrs. Gable, a resident who always had to be the center of attention, squatted down and started wrestling with one of my employees over a box.
"Don't you touch that! This is community property now that you're gone. It has nothing to do with you. If you fight me, I'll fall over and say you pushed me!"
"She's right! You've been kicked out! Put it all down!"
"I call dibs on this rice cooker! It's at least fifty bucks online. Give it to me!"
"You damn leeches, let go! You were bound to get fired. Don't make us get physical!"
"We're about to start our own management. All this equipment is ready to go, and we don't have to buy a thing. It's perfect!"
They descended like locusts, trying to snatch even the most meager of our personal belongings.
These ungrateful people. They'd forgotten the ten years we'd spent tirelessly solving their problems. We operated at a loss every year, but we couldn't stand to see the quality of life decline for the few who did pay their dues.
Mrs. Gable was a hoarder. Shed shamelessly take things other people left outside their doors. We had pleaded with her countless times, but she never listened. Now that we were leaving, she was stirring up the mob to pick our bones clean, a final act of revenge.
A hot, white rage surged through me.
I spotted a cashmere scarf in the pilea gift I had prepared years ago as an incentive to encourage fee payments.
Amidst the chaotic grabbing, I pulled out a lighter and set it aflame.
They froze, their eyes wide with alarm, fixed on the growing flame.
"What what are you doing?" Mrs. Gable stammered.
My team, understanding my signal perfectly, quickly gathered what they could carry. I held the residents' hostile gazes, escorting my employees out of the lobby before stomping out the fire with my boot.
But the moment I turned my back, Mrs. Gable crouched down again, and a new wave of looting began.
The air grew cold. I wrapped my arms around myself. Ten years of dedicated service, and in the end, we were worth less than the trash they were fighting over on the floor. My team looked utterly dejected. I felt it too, a deep, hollow ache in my chest. No matter how strong a front I put on, this place had been my life for a decade.
How many decades does a person even get?
I could say with absolute confidence that no other management company could have done a better job. Every corner of this community, every aspect of daily life, had been meticulously planned and managed by us to meet the residents' needs.
As for being replaced, Id seen it coming. Three months ago, Mark Hanlon's wife, Tiffany, started cozying up to our staff for no apparent reason. She kept mentioning the debt they owed us while asking to "learn" how to manage a community. She claimed she wanted the homeowners to understand our perspective and even recorded our general workflow on her phone.
I couldn't refuse without causing a scene. Mark had influence in the community group chat. If they started stirring up trouble online, it could make our daily work impossible. I never imagined that the simple tasks I showed her would become the basis for Mark's confidence in ousting us.
But theres a reason no one else wanted this job. It was a ticking time bomb.

2
I went to the parking garage to get my car. Tiffany Hanlon was waiting for me. Draped in gold and designer brands, she was a stark contrast to my own disheveled state. She squeezed out a few crocodile tears and greeted me with feigned awkwardness.
"Claire, honey, I had no idea everyone was so upset with you. I mean, we've gotten along so well these past few months. It feels so empty now that you're just gone."
I didn't say a word, just opened my car door and got in.
She deliberately stood in front of my car, then sidestepped with a theatrical little gasp, as if she'd just noticed. If our first meetings had been tinged with a thin veneer of politeness, her current arrogance was overflowing.
"Fine. We won't leave. Just pay the ten years of fees you owe," I said coolly, raising an eyebrow.
Her brow instantly furrowed, a wave of hostility radiating from her. She tilted her head back, her eyes practically shooting sparks. Then she spat on the ground, a contemptuous smile spreading across her face.
"Pah! You actually took my polite act seriously? Why the hell would I give you money?"
She climbed onto the hood of my car, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at my face. "You should take a good look in the mirror. We didn't pay you for ten years, and you still worked, didn't you? Just from recycling, you probably pocketed thousands every day from all the bottles you collected!"
"How do we even calculate that? You lined your pockets with money that belongs to us. You should be grateful we're not suing you to get it back!"
She slid off the hood, her nails dragging across my window. "I'm not one to hold a grudge. If it weren't for your incompetence, we never would have realized how useless property management is. My Mark wouldn't have had this opportunity."
She gestured grandly at the parking spot. "Once you're gone, this prime spot is all mine." Her every move reeked of smug superiority.
"Management is useless, is it?" I asked, my voice calm but my gaze sharp.
"The delivery services for Crestview drop everything in the lobby. Most residents are working professionals who get home after the mail room closes. If we weren't sorting every package and making sure they got delivered to your doors, your apartment would be a disaster zone."
"Every holiday, you'd complain that other communities gave out gifts. So I'd make dumplings in the management office for everyone. You'd all insist they were gifts and fight over them until every last one was gone. If your family couldn't produce 'gifts' like that, the whole community would be camped on your doorstep demanding them!"
I had only pointed out two minor things, but they hit their mark. The smugness drained from Tiffany's face, replaced by a blotchy, angry red.
Her voice rose, trembling slightly. "That's none of your damn business! My Mark used to run a whole street when he was younger!"
Her voice echoed in the empty garage, but she couldn't meet my eyes.
"You're reacting so strongly. Looks like I hit a nerve," I said calmly.
"The public facilities in this community were paid for and are maintained by us. Your access fobs will all be deactivated tonight. The security gates will become useless decorations. I'll be contacting the manufacturer to repossess them, so they don't block your way."
"The elevator maintenance hasn't been paid for in three years. As per the contract, they'll be coming to disable them. Starting tomorrow, all residents will be taking the stairs."
Beads of sweat formed on Tiffany's forehead. Each of these seemingly simple issues would be a nightmare for her and Mark to handle. I knew about Mark's "management experience"it consisted of shaking down local shops for protection money over a decade ago. In today's world, the slightest show of force from him would trigger a massive backlash. We're all homeowners here, what makes you so special?
Tiffany swallowed hard and stumbled back a step. She shot me a furious glare, then took off her stiletto and viciously stabbed it into my tire. Again and again. The front left tire hissed and deflated.
"No security cameras down here," she spat. "A little reward for your smart mouth!"
My fists clenched. I grabbed the heavy insulated thermos from my passenger seat and jumped out of the car, raising it to strike. But I stopped myself. If I hit her, she'd twist the story, and I'd likely lose my car in the legal mess.
"I'll take this loss," I said through gritted teeth.
I got back in the car and started the engine. Then I made two phone calls.
"Our management contract has been terminated. You can come and collect your equipment."

3
The next morning, I woke up to over a dozen missed calls from Mark. I'd silenced my phone for a peaceful night.
I answered groggily. An angry torrent of words immediately assaulted my ear.
"Claire, what the hell is this? You had the elevators disabled first thing in the morning! Everyone who lives on the 20th and 30th floors was late for work! We had to send some of the older folks to the hospital from the exertion!"
On the security feed I still had access to, I could see Mark pacing frantically in our old office. I'd left the cameras active for this very reason.
"Claire, sweetie, please help us out," Tiffany cooed into the phone, her voice dripping with false sincerity. In the video, her expression was pure disgust. "Just have them turn the elevators back on. Give us some time to transition!"
Mark took the phone back. "Claire, you should know better than to burn your bridges! You never know when you might need someone!" His voice rose to a yell. "You are a cold-hearted bitch! I'm giving you a chance to fix this. Get over here now so we can talk."
"Fix it?" I stretched luxuriously and chuckled. "Your wife stabbed my tire to send me a message. This is just my message back. Tit for tat. Seems fair to me."
There was a pause. On the monitor, I saw him cover the phone and exchange a few hushed words with Tiffany. After she nodded, he cleared his throat.
"I'll pay for a new tire. You solve this problem."
Tiffany forced a smile. "Claire, let's be adults here. This is about business, not right and wrong. I was a little impulsive yesterday. I'm sorry."
"No," I said simply.
Mark's temper flared. His body language on the screen screamed, My wife apologized, now do what you're told.
"Claire! Don't push your luck! If you don't help, it'll just take me a few extra days to sort this out. But you'll have lost me as a friend! You can just rot at home until society forgets you exist!"
I hung up, not feeling a shred of anger. My housekeeper brought up breakfast, and I ate while watching the security feed.
Mrs. Gable was dragging two huge plaid laundry bags full of cardboard boxes. Everyone dodged her. She stood at the entrance to her building and ran into Mark and Tiffany.
"Mark, why isn't the elevator working? You said you'd fix it today."
"Mrs. Gable, please don't add to the chaos. Just leave your things in the lobby for now. We'll let you know when the elevator is running."
Annoyed, Mrs. Gable started hauling her bags toward the stairs. "No way. I live on the thirtieth floor, and I'm taking these with me. What if someone steals them from the lobby?"
Mark looked like he'd swallowed a bug and stalked off.
A smile touched my lips. This was only day one. They were in for a long ride.
After breakfast, my husband came home. Seeing my cheerful mood, he came over to watch the monitors with me. He hadn't been worried at all when we were forced out.
"I've already secured you the management contract for the new luxury villa complex. You can even bring your old team back," he said. "I told you from the beginning, the Crestview Estates was a complicated mess. You should have been firm the first year they didn't pay. Dragging it out was bound to end in an explosion."
He wrapped his arms around me. "I'm always in your corner. According to plan, Crestview is about to become infamous."
I snuggled into his embrace. His family's property management company was one of the top three in the country. Without his backing, I never would have won the Crestview contract ten years ago. He was the one who gave me the freedom to take risks. Otherwise, that 0-0.5 million debt would have bankrupted me long ago.
We spent the next few days together, taking our son to amusement parks. Life was good. I had my assistant manager move our team to the new villa complex. After the ordeal at Crestview, they found the new job, with fewer residents and even fewer demands, to be a dream. Plus, their salaries doubled. It was a blessing in disguise.
Meanwhile, at Crestview Estates, the elevator problem festered. Mark tried to collect $20 from each household for repairs, but almost no one was willing to pay. Having tasted the sweetness of getting services for free, they weren't about to start paying now. And Mark certainly wasn't going to pay out of his own pocket.
With the elevators out, a new problem emerged: food delivery.

4
Without the security gates, Crestview had become a semi-open community. I had always enforced strict zones outside the main lobby. E-scooters had designated parking, and traffic flowed in an orderly fashion.
Now, delivery drivers zipped through the complex on their scooters at all hours. The grounds were a chaotic mess. You had to watch your step constantly to avoid being hit.
"Watch it! You almost ran me over, you idiot!" a resident would yell.
The drivers didn't care. They were on a timer.
They would ride right up to the building entrance, but they would only deliver to floors ten and below. Anything higher required a tip. Either you paid extra, or you had to come down to the tenth floor to get your food.
After a week, the tenth-floor residents had had enough. I had a burner account in the residents' group chat and saw the tirades firsthand.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME? HAVE SOME DAMN DECENCY! IF YOU CAN'T AFFORD DELIVERY, DON'T ORDER IT! OUR HALLWAY IS WORSE THAN THE LOBBY! STRANGERS ARE COMING AND GOING ALL DAY!"
"The trash piling up outside my door is a mountain! My kid is scared to even leave the apartment!"
"And the late-night orders wake me up constantly! The next time I see a delivery bag in my hallway, I'm throwing it out the window!"
The residents on the upper floors fought back just as fiercely.
"Tough luck you live on the tenth floor! There are twenty more floors above you! You throw one bag, we'll see what happens. We'll camp outside your door!"
"Yeah, have a little consideration! You might be in a tough spot one day too. If you can cook, maybe I'll buy from you instead!"
"Some of us work night shifts! Are we not allowed to eat when we get home? Late-night delivery is already expensive. I shouldn't have to pay extra just to get my own food! Let us live!"
A lightbulb went off in Mark's head. He seized the opportunity to bring up the elevator repairs again. This time, most of the residents paid up. The elevators were back in service.
He posted on social media, a clear jab at me: "Elevator problem solved, easy peasy. Someone must be fuming right now!"
Mark thought he was a genius, solving two problems at once. But he hadn't implemented any rules about the e-scooters. The delivery drivers, looking to save even more time, found a new shortcut.
They started riding their e-scooters directly into the elevators.
Once one person did it, everyone followed.
Until one day, an e-scooter battery spontaneously combusted inside an elevator.
My phone blew up with calls from Mark.
"Claire, you need to get over here right now," he demanded.

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