Chapter 1: The Accusation

A few days after I bought my new apartment, I was served with a lawsuit from the county court.

My upstairs neighbor was suing me.

She claimed the noise I made at night had frightened her grandmother, who had a heart condition, and caused a fatal episode.

The old woman had died that same night.

At the hearing, her story was disturbingly convincing.

“My Nonna was eighty-nine. She had a bad heart. She couldn’t handle being startled.”

“I told the woman downstairs so many times, but she didn’t care. The noise just got worse every day.”

“The night before last, in the middle of the night, that noise set Nonna off. ”

“By the time the ambulance got there, she was already gone.”

Murmurs rippled through the gallery.

“She knew an elderly person lived there, and she still carried on like that? That’s just awful.”

“How is that any different from murder?”

“The court needs to take this seriously.”

I looked at them, and only one thought came to mind.

I hadn’t even moved in yet.

…

“Genevieve Wells, how many times did I tell you? My Nonna had heart disease! She couldn’t stand that kind of sharp noise!”

“But you made a racket every night. It started in mid-September, almost every single night, sometimes until dawn.”

My upstairs neighbor, Adriana Ferraro, stood at the plaintiff’s table, her eyes red as she pointed a shaking finger at me.

She was clutching a framed photograph of her grandmother.

“My Nonna raised me. She meant more to me than anyone. ”

“Now she’s gone, and I am going to get justice for her.”

I looked at her and tried to be as clear as possible.

“Adriana, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. ”

“The person making the noise might not be me. ”

“There are a lot of people in this building. Did you check any of the other floors?”

Adriana Ferraro and I had only met once or twice. We were practically strangers.

Before this, our only contact had been a few exchanges in the building’s Facebook group.

The day I joined, I figured I should introduce myself to my future neighbors.

I posted that I had just bought Unit 1608 and was looking forward to meeting everyone.

Adriana was the first to reply, posting an enthusiastic welcome emoji.

“Welcome, Genevieve! If you ever need anything, come knock on 1708 anytime.”

At the time, I’d thought the people in this building seemed so friendly.

Then, the afternoon before yesterday, I was leaving work and had just reached the parking garage when she stopped me.

She got straight to the point: her grandmother had died the night before because of the noise I’d made, and she expected me to pay.

After hearing her out, I told her it was impossible.

But she wouldn’t let it go, absolutely certain it had been me.

She wanted money.

I told her that since I hadn’t done anything, I wouldn’t pay a dime.

She’d spat one line back at me—“Then we’ll see you in court”—and stormed off.

The next day, sure enough, I received a summons for an emergency hearing.

I arrived at the county courthouse at the designated time.

“Are you sure it was my apartment?” I asked her now.

Adriana looked at me, her expression cold.

“I’m positive. It was yours.”

“It started in mid-September. ”

“Every night around ten, all the way until three or four in the morning. ”

“Sometimes even later.”

Someone in the gallery spoke up again.

“Who could stand a neighbor like that?”

“She doesn’t sleep, and she won’t let anyone else sleep, either.”

“The poor woman was already in bad health. And now she’s dead.”

At that, Adriana raised the photograph higher.