Chapter 95

The twentieth floor—the top of their unit.

When they arrived, they found the safety door locked from the inside, solid and unyielding.

Mrs. Warren felt a chill crawl up her spine, memories of what had happened at Suzy’s door flashing through her mind.

Still, she forced herself forward and knocked.

"Open up! We’re here to collect supplies!" she called out bluntly.

Silence.

No movement. No response.

She remembered that a young man lived on this floor—he had renovated his apartment not long ago.

Back then, she had complained to property management more than once about the noise.

The young man had handled it well, even sending over small gifts to smooth things over. After that, she had let it go.

"He’s not home?" she muttered.

She knocked again.

Still nothing.

Thinking back, she realized she had barely seen him around lately—not even during water collection.

"Probably not here," she concluded, shaking her head. "Let’s go back down."

"What if he’s pretending?" Bill questioned.

Mrs. Warren waved it off. "That kid’s from a rich family—always coming and going. He’s probably staying somewhere else. I haven’t seen him at all during the recent water runs."

Another woman chimed in, "Yeah, yeah—he’s quite handsome too. Haven’t seen him in days."

That seemed to settle it.

The group turned to leave.

***

On the nineteenth floor, the young couple had been watching closely. When they saw the group return empty-handed, they were puzzled.

"He refused to hand anything over?" the girl asked.

"No one answered. Probably not home," Mrs. Warren replied.

The couple exchanged a glance.

"That’s impossible," the young man said. "He’s definitely home."

"How do you know?" Bill shot back.

The girl answered instead, "He runs his air conditioner every day. The outdoor unit’s always humming... how could no one be there?"

Her words froze everyone in place.

Air conditioner... every day?

The outdoor unit... constantly running?

Wait.

Wasn’t the power already out?

Then how—

"How is that possible?" Bill frowned.

"He had solar panels installed on the rooftop earlier," the girl explained. "I saw the workers carrying them up myself."

So that was it.

The air conditioning, running non-stop, must be powered by those panels.

And not just that—he probably had other generators too. Otherwise, how could he keep it running around the clock?

"You’re sure you heard it?" Bill pressed, his voice sharpening with interest.

If this was true...

Then the twentieth floor wasn’t just another unit.

It was a gold mine.

"I swear! I’ve been hearing it for days!" the girl insisted.

Their apartment was directly below. At first, they had thought they were imagining things—but over time, it became undeniable.

There was someone upstairs.

Occasionally, faint noises drifted down—proof that the place wasn’t empty.

The group exchanged glances.

In a time when everyone else had no power, no food... Someone up there still had electricity. Air conditioning. Supplies.

Mrs. Warren felt her heart stir.

The couple, too, shared a knowing look.

Their goal had been achieved.

They had known all along how comfortably the twentieth-floor resident was living—cool air in the middle of relentless heat, day after day.

And the young man had even added Richard Stone as a contact.

He saw the posts—lavish meals, shameless displays of abundance—but when he tried to message him, there was never a reply.

They had even waited outside his door for an hour once.

Nothing.

The resentment had only grown.

They had tried forcing the door, but it was useless.

The reinforced door on the twentieth floor was far sturdier than any standard one.

So instead, they chose another path.

They aligned themselves with Mrs. Warren—hoping to bring her and the others into the plan to deal with Richard.

"I understand," Bill said at last, unusually cautious.

He had tested the door himself earlier. It was solid—forcing entry wasn’t an option.

Whoever lived up there had clearly prepared in advance.

Rushing in blindly would only backfire.

They had learned their lesson from Suzy.

This time, they would be careful.

The group returned and spent a long time discussing their next move.

In the end, they decided to gather proper tools first.

***

For the next week, things remained relatively calm.

Suzy stayed inside, keeping a low profile.

True to her word, Mrs. Warren distributed supplies to each household—once every two days.

But after just one week, a message appeared in the group chat:

Food is running out.

When they had collected supplies, the amounts varied wildly—some households gave more, others less. During distribution, the surplus had been used to cover shortages.

Of course... some of it had quietly been skimmed off by Mrs. Warren.

That, she had no intention of returning.

The announcement threw the group into chaos.

Most people had believed that pooling resources would last much longer.

No one expected it to fall short in just a week.

Arguments erupted almost immediately.

Then—

A single image appeared.

A table overflowing with food.

Lobster. Abalone. Steak. Ice-cold drinks.

A real feast.

The chat fell silent.

For a full minute.

[Who the hell posts something like this at a time like this?!]

[Do you have any conscience?! I can barely eat, and you show me this?]

[Kick them out!]

The image had been posted by an unnamed account.

The anger in the group was immediate and intense.

People were starving—scraping by on rationed scraps—and now this?

It felt like a deliberate provocation.

Then another message followed:

[This is what the twentieth floor had for lunch today.]

Silence fell again.

[Stop joking around.]

[Yeah, what kind of nonsense is this?]

Another image appeared—a screenshot of a social media post.

Timestamp: one minute ago.

Caption:

Just having something simple.

[Image]

[This guy’s lost his mind from hunger.]

[Probably ate spoiled food—food poisoning.]

[Just random pictures from the internet. Don’t be stupid.]

[Stop posting this garbage. Think about where to get food instead.]

Then...

A new message appeared, from a user labeled "19":

[The twentieth floor really has supplies. He still has power. That post is real. He runs his air conditioner every day.]

The group froze.

[Is that true?]

[He really has supplies? And AC?! Eats like that every day??]

[Yes.]

[What the hell?! If he has that much, he should be helping his neighbors! Instead, he’s hoarding it all—disgusting!]

[Exactly! We’re starving and he’s living like that? What kind of person does that?!]

[Anyone want to go check the twentieth floor together?]