Keep Scratching My Car, I'll Keep Leveling Up

Before the officer could take the memory card, Dexter lunged forward and snatched it away, hurling it down onto the concrete floor. He crushed it under the heel of his leather shoe until the plastic casing shattered into pieces.

Dexter shrugged. "What memory card? I didn't see anything."

Jim immediately supported his claim. "I didn't see it either. Officer, she's having another episode and keeps insisting there was some kind of card."

The officer frowned but ultimately wrote only a single line in the report, stating that both parties had failed to reach an agreement.

Before leaving, the officer pulled me aside and whispered, "Miss, you're not completely innocent in this either. He's just doing his job. Don't take things so seriously. Just let this one go."

"How far should I let it go? Until he breaks down my door and rapes me?" I asked.

The officer's expression stiffened. He said nothing more, got in his car, and drove off.

…

Early the next morning, I headed downstairs to the underground parking lot.

Construction debris was piled waist-high in my parking space, including broken bricks, chunks of concrete, and renovation waste. The pink Rolls-Royce Phantom was covered in a thick layer of brick dust, and several fresh scratches were clearly visible across the paint.

Just then, rain started pouring down. I took off my blazer, rolled up my sleeves, and cleared the bricks and rubble alone in the pouring rain.

Dexter sat beneath the awning at the parking lot entrance, legs crossed, smoking and laughing loudly with his coworker. "See that? That's what happens when people don't listen. Can you believe she called the cops? I'll make sure she gets out of this complex!"

Another security guard held up his phone to record me, doubling over with laughter.

After clearing the last brick, I was soaked through. I got into the car, opened the hidden compartment in the passenger-side glove box, and pulled out a black waterproof metal case. Inside, three brand-new memory cards lay neatly arranged.

The one that had been crushed was just a blank card worth less than a dollar. All the original data had already been automatically uploaded to a private cloud server through the car's built-in system three days earlier.

In the rearview mirror, I saw Dexter's smug grin.

Then, Dexter stood with his hands on his hips, blocking the gate at the complex entrance. "What memory card? I genuinely didn't see one. Prove that you got this car legally, and I'll let you through.

"This car of yours probably came from somewhere shady, right? Did some guy give you a stolen car? We don't allow criminals in this complex!"

He deliberately raised his voice, drawing the attention of nearby residents.

I didn't argue with him. I shifted into reverse, parked the car in the public parking area outside, and began walking in and out of the complex instead.

…

That afternoon, I returned to the complex carrying my briefcase.

Dexter stopped me right at the security booth. "Stop! Routine inspection! We've had things go missing around here lately. We suspect someone may be smuggling stolen goods out of the complex."

He snatched my bag and flipped it upside down onto the pavement. My lipstick, keys, notebook, and several packs of sanitary pads scattered across the ground.

Dexter nudged the lipstick with the tip of his shoe. He bent down, picked up a pack of sanitary pads, and waved it in front of more than ten residents. "Oh, this brand is pretty expensive. These are imported, right? Did your sugar daddy buy these for you, or did you earn the money by sleeping with someone?"

Passersby covered their mouths as they snickered, while a few older women pointed at me and whispered among themselves.

A young security guard who had only recently joined the team stood by the booth, his face flushed red. He stepped forward and tugged at Dexter's sleeve. "Dexter, that's enough. She's a woman."

Dexter spun around and smacked the young guard hard on the back of the head. "Who the hell asked for your opinion? Are you taking her side now? Get lost if you don't want this job anymore!"

That same afternoon, Jim fired the young guard. The guard passed by me while carrying a cardboard box, not even daring to look up. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"I'm sorry."