Three Years' Renovation Left for Landlord; He Denied $6000 Deposit, Regretted It

For three years I rented that place, and out of my own pocket I turned my landlord's bare, unfinished unit in a run-down neighborhood into a luxurious, sunlit dream apartment.

When I gave notice, I told the landlord I'd leave the renovations untouched, and the furniture and appliances too, all for him.

He thanked me, thrilled, and I thought my goodwill would buy me a decent goodbye.

I never expected that the moment the deposit came up, he'd turn on a dime and say, mean as anything:

"Deposit! What deposit?"

"You altered my rental unit without my permission. Your breach, your unauthorized renovations, that ate up the deposit a long time ago!"

"I'm being generous not making you pay damages, and you still want your deposit back?"

"You gave notice, so pack up your junk and get out. Don't blame us if we stop being nice and call the cops to have you removed."

And with that, I stared at the phone he'd hung up on and let out a cold laugh.

Fine. Since you say you never agreed to the renovations,

then I'll respect your word, and give you back the apartment exactly the way it was.

...

The second the landlord hung up, my friend Judy Finch called.

"Blanche, what is wrong with this landlord of yours?"

Judy's voice was furious.

I frowned a little.

"What happened? Did he say you can't rent my old place?"

Judy's answer was pure disbelief.

"It's not that he said no, he's lost his mind!"

"He just messaged me and said, sure, I can renew the lease, for eight thousand a month!"

I froze where I stood, my mind going blank.

Eight thousand?

For three years my rent on that place had been exactly two thousand a month.

I'd been planning to move out, and since Judy happened to be looking for a place nearby,

I'd passed the landlord Patrick Lambert's contact along to her.

I hadn't even planned to take the furniture and appliances I'd so carefully picked out.

I just wanted my friend to be able to move right in with her bags.

The landlord would end up with a fully finished apartment and could bump the rent a few hundred. It was a win for everyone.

When I'd first brought it up with Patrick,

he'd thumped his chest and said no problem.

And now the rent had quadrupled overnight?

I hung up with Judy and dialed Patrick's number directly.

"Patrick, did you get the rent figure wrong when you quoted Judy?"

I asked, holding down the anger inside me.

Patrick's voice came through, careless.

"Nope, no mistake. Eight thousand, not a cent less."

"But my rent's been two thousand for three years. Four, five, we could talk about."

"Eight is absurdly high."

I gripped the phone tighter.

Looking back over those three years, Patrick had hinted, openly and otherwise, more than once that he wanted to raise the rent.

But because I'd wanted to keep things simple and signed a locked three-year lease all at once, he'd never managed to pull it off.

Patrick let out a cold laugh on his end.

"Blanche Armstrong, why don't you go ask around out there."

"That fully finished dream apartment you're living in, all the appliances, move-in ready, I could list it online for ten thousand and people would be fighting over it!"

"I only knocked two thousand off for her because she's your friend."

"If you can't afford it, don't go renting nice places. Don't throw my kindness back in my face."

I laughed coldly to myself. Finished dream apartment? I was the one who renovated it,

and he had the nerve to try raising my rent!

Before I could get a word of protest out, he hung up on me, and a link came flying through on the messenger right after.

I opened it.

The title jumped out at me: Stunning fully finished dream apartment, full set of appliances like new, ten thousand a month, don't sleep on it!

Every photo was a picture from my own life that I'd posted these past three years.

My lace curtains, my solid-wood desk, and the refrigerator I'd paid a small fortune for.

Even the throw pillows I'd left on the couch had become bait for luring in tenants.

A chill shot up from the soles of my feet to the top of my head.

I hadn't fully moved out yet. My personal things were still inside.

And he'd already listed the place online, even flagged it as available for viewings anytime.

A bad feeling spread wildly through me.

I shot to my feet, grabbed my bag, and bolted.

The moment the car pulled up at the mouth of the neighborhood alley, I raced upstairs.

The door was ajar.

Noise and footsteps spilled out from inside.

I shoved the door open.

The sight in front of me froze the blood in my veins.

Three strangers, in shoes caked with mud, were tramping across the wool rug I'd only recently replaced.

My wardrobe stood open, the clothes inside pawed into a mess.

The skincare on my vanity had even had its caps twisted off.

Patrick stood in the middle of the living room, spraying spit as he bragged.

"Look at this light, this renovation, worth every penny and more!"

I strode in, my voice ice cold.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Patrick turned, saw me, and showed not a shred of guilt. If anything, his brow furrowed with irritation.

"What are you back for? I'm showing the place. If this holds up finding my next tenant, can you cover the loss?"

I pointed at the mud prints on the floor and my personal things pawed into disarray.

"The lease isn't even up. What gives you the right to bring people in and rummage through my things?"

The people who'd come to view the place traded a glance, muttered something to each other, and walked out the door.

Patrick's face turned dark the instant they left.

"What are you shouting about? It's my house. What's wrong with bringing people to look at it?"

I had no interest in his excuses. My eyes were tearing across the room, searching.

"Where's my cat?"

Corey Abbott, the cat I'd raised for three years, always came trotting over the moment I opened the door.

But now I checked under the bed, the closet, the balcony, and there wasn't so much as a shadow of him.

My heart lurched up into my throat.

"Patrick, I'm asking you. Where is my cat!"

He couldn't have cared less. His tone was pure contempt.

"Oh, that animal?"

"It was darting around underfoot while I was showing people the place. Getting in the way."

"So I kicked it out the door."

"What did you say!" My eyes went wide in disbelief.

I couldn't even stay to fight with him. I spun around and tore down the stairs like a madwoman.

"Corey! Corey, where are you!"

I searched the area, circle after circle.

Just as I was about to give up, I finally heard a faint, thin meow from a patch of weeds.

Corey was curled into a ball, shaking all over, his once snow-white fur caked with mud and grime.

There was an obvious scrape along one of his hind legs.

I gathered him into my arms as gently as I could, and the tears came at once.

I carried him back up the stairs.

Patrick was sitting on my couch, one leg crossed over the other, smoking, flicking his ash straight onto my rug.

I walked up to him.

"What gave you the right to kick him?"

His hand paused around the cigarette. He cut me a sideways look.

"What? A person needs to pick a good day before kicking an animal?"

"It bared its teeth at me like it was about to bite. I haven't even billed you for emotional distress yet!"

I was shaking with rage.

Corey hid under the bed if a stranger so much as came near. How could he ever have tried to bite anyone?

"You're lying! You hurt him on purpose!"

Crack.

A hard, ringing slap landed on the left side of my face.

The blow knocked my head to the side, and my ear filled with a high ringing.

In my arms, Corey cried out in fright and shrank deeper against me.

Patrick stood up and jabbed a finger at me.

"Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?"

"You kept a cat in my house behind my back, and I haven't even settled that account with you yet!"

I pressed a hand to my burning cheek and forced the words out through my teeth.

"When we signed the lease, I specifically asked you whether I could keep pets, and you agreed. With your own mouth!"

Patrick let out a cold laugh, every inch the swindler.

"Did I? Is it written in the contract?"

"Cut the nonsense. You kept a pet without my permission. That's a breach of contract."

"Not only does that six thousand deposit stay with me, you owe me another six thousand in penalty fees on top of it!"

His shamelessness was almost enough to make me laugh.

There was no clause anywhere in that contract barring pets.

This was daylight robbery.

He gave a snort through his nose, pulled out his phone, and tapped a few times.

A file came through on my messages.

I opened it. A spreadsheet, titled "List of Non-Removable Items."

I skimmed it, and the fury shot straight to the top of my skull.

The list didn't just include the air conditioner and water heater I'd installed at my own expense.

Even the small appliances I'd meant to take with me, the microwave, the air fryer, the humidifier,

were laid out on it, one by one, plain as day.

Patrick's eyes were all calculation.

"You said it yourself, out loud, that all of this was staying for me."

"I recorded it, too."

"When you move out, if I go down this list and find even one thing missing,"

"I'll call the police and have you arrested. I'll charge you with theft!"

I looked at that list, three years of my heart and money on it, and it struck me as utterly absurd.

I'd thought my goodwill would buy me a peaceful move-out.

Instead I'd fed and raised an ungrateful, bottomless leech.

I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth, and something in my eyes went cold for good.

Judy Finch called the moment she heard what had happened.

"Blanche, don't go head to head with him. A thug like that will do anything."

"Come stay with me first. We'll settle the rest with him bit by bit later."

I looked down at Corey, still trembling in my arms, drew in a deep breath, and gave in.

"Okay. I'll move out tomorrow."

After I hung up, I started packing that same night.

Because of Patrick's outrageous list, there was pitifully little I could actually take.

I stacked the packed suitcases by the door, planning to call a car and haul everything away right after work the next day.

The next evening, the moment I reached the foot of the building, I sensed something was off.

A few familiar suitcases had been dumped by the trash can in the hallway.

Corey's carrier was flipped upside down in the corner, and a faint scratching came from inside.

I rushed over, righted the carrier, and once I made sure Corey was all right, I turned and stared at those suitcases.

They were mine.

I took the stairs two at a time, pulled out my key, and jammed it into the lock.

I twisted hard a few times. The key wouldn't turn at all.

The lock had been changed.

I stood in front of the sealed security door, so angry I laughed.

The lease didn't expire until the day after tomorrow, and he'd already thrown my things out and switched the locks.

Did he really think I was some soft touch he could push around however he liked?

I pulled out my phone right there, booked a locksmith through a local-service app,

and messaged a renovation crew I knew while I was at it.

Half an hour later, the locksmith showed up with his toolbox.

He looked at the door, then looked at me.

"You sure you actually live here?"

I pulled up the electronic lease on my phone and held it out to him.

"Take a good look. The lease runs through the day after tomorrow."

"I'm still the legal tenant of this unit, and I have every right to have the lock opened."

He checked the dates carefully and nodded.

"All right. A contract's good enough for me."

In under five minutes, the lock dropped to the floor.

I pushed the door open, and the workers filed in behind me.

I stood in the middle of the living room and looked around at the little home I'd put together so carefully.

When I first rented this place, it didn't even qualify as bare-bones construction.

The walls were exposed red brick, the floor was full of dips and holes, and a leaking pipe had left the corner damp and molded.

Even the windows were barely blocked off with broken planks against the wind.

To save money, I bought paint and coated the walls myself after work, and leveled the floor myself.

I fixed the pipes a little at a time, and it took me two months of saved wages to replace the windows.

Later, when things got better, I added an oven, a projector, a leather sofa.

Piece by piece I turned a run-down place where rats scurried around into a princess room dripping with that upscale feel.

I even posted the whole makeover online and built up a following of tens of thousands.

Because I'd poured so much of myself into it, I couldn't bear to wreck it, so I'd wanted to leave it all intact.

And what I got in return was my luggage thrown out, my pet kicked, my deposit withheld.

I dug up the photos I'd taken three years ago, the first time I came to see the place.

In them, the red brick was bare, the floor a mess, streaked with mold and water stains.

Back then, before it was rented out, the landlord's dog liked to run over and relieve itself here.

So when I first cleaned the place, every step turned up a fresh little surprise.

I held my phone screen up to the foreman of the renovation crew.

"Sir, can you see this photo clearly?"

"Just match this exactly."

"Strip everything back to how it looks here. One to one."

The workers exchanged glances. They'd clearly never gotten a request this crazy.

"Miss, this place is renovated real nice. Tearing it all out would be such a waste."

I pulled a stack of cash out of my bag and slapped it on the table.

"It's no waste. Tear it out. Every appliance, every piece of furniture, and that window too. Haul it all away."

"Scrape all the paint off the walls. Pry up every board of the flooring."

"And put the pipes back the way they were, leaking."

"Scoop the waste out of my cat's litter box."

The foreman's eyes lit up at the sight of the money. He waved his workers over on the spot.

I watched, cold-eyed, as the apartment came apart piece by piece back to its original state.

There wasn't a trace of regret in me, only a satisfaction I couldn't quite put into words.

I picked up Corey's carrier, dragged the few suitcases I had left, and turned to head downstairs.

Judy Finch was already waiting at the corner. She helped me load everything into the trunk.

"You really had them tear the whole thing out?" she asked as she drove.

I rolled down the window and let the evening wind mess up my hair.

"Didn't he say I breached the lease with unauthorized renovations?"

"Well, since he didn't approve, I'm returning the place to him exactly as it was. Call it staying on the right side of the law."

For the next two days, I stayed in Judy's guest room and spoiled Corey rotten.

Then, on the afternoon of the third day, the foreman sent over a video of the finished job.

In it, the apartment had gone completely back to the wretched state it was in three years ago.

Broken bricks and cement rubble all over the floor, the pipe in the corner dripping steadily.

There were even clumps from Corey's litter box on the ground. You didn't have to imagine what the place smelled like now.

Satisfied, I transferred the balance.

Then I opened my messages with Patrick Lambert.

"Landlord, I've moved out."

"I left the key by the door."

"I've returned the apartment to you exactly as required, just the way it was."

"That six-thousand deposit, I don't want it back either. Consider it my apology to you."

Not long after I sent it, Patrick replied with a voice message.

Even through the screen I could hear how pleased with himself he was.

"See, wouldn't it have been easier to do this from the start?"

"Young people renting places need to learn the rules. That deposit was never coming back anyway."

"I taught you a lesson here. Don't argue with your landlord from now on. It won't do you any good!"

I let out a cold laugh and opened his social feed. His latest post jumped out at me.

"Finally got rid of that broke tenant who was mooching off me for two grand!"

"Tomorrow I welcome a new tenant paying ten grand rent. Now that's a quality client!"

The photo attached was still that gorgeous shot of my princess-style apartment.

Looking at the screen, one corner of my mouth curved into a mocking smile.

The next morning.

Patrick brought the new tenant over.

The new tenant, Sally Chavez, was a small-time influencer, holding up a selfie stick and narrating to the camera.

"Hey babies, today I'm moving into that luxury princess apartment that costs ten grand!"

"Word is the last tenant was an influencer too, and she poured a few hundred thousand into fixing it up."

"Help me check it out, everyone, see if this ten grand is worth it!"

Comments raced up the livestream, everyone waiting for the legendary, gorgeous rental.

Patrick stood off to the side with his back straight, thumping his chest for the camera.

"Absolutely worth it! My place isn't just luxuriously renovated, all the appliances are brand new!"

"Anyone who lives there knows. It's a princess-level experience, guaranteed!"

As he spoke, the two of them reached the door.

"Alright, time to witness the miracle!"

Patrick shoved the door open and turned to Sally, that showing-off grin still on his face.

The moment Sally's gaze went past him and landed on the inside of the apartment,

the smile froze right off her face.