The Guy Next Door Keeps Stealing My Food Deliveries.

## The guy next door keeps stealing my food deliveries. The man with gout from across the hall has a nasty habit of swiping my takeout. And yet, he still has the audacity to trash-talk me in the neighborhood group chat: “Only prostitute order takeout!” I just smiled coldly at his nonsense and started doing some research. “Foods that people with gout should never eat.” “Which foods spike uric acid levels the most?” If he wants to steal my food so badly, I might as well help him out. The guy next door keeps stealing my food deliveries. The man with gout from across the hall has a nasty habit of swiping my takeout. And yet, he still has the audacity to trash-talk me in the neighborhood group chat: “Only people who don’t know how to cook order takeout!” I just smiled coldly at his nonsense and started doing some research. “Foods that people with gout should never eat.” “Which foods spike uric acid levels the most?” If he wants to steal my food so badly, I might as well help him out. On my way home from work one night, I decided to order some spicy crawfish. The delivery driver arrived a minute before I did, so I told him to leave it by my door. When I got off the elevator, though, the food was gone. Looking around, I noticed a trail of crawfish sauce dripping on the floor, leading straight to my neighbor’s door: Mrs. Jenkins. Well, specifically, to her grandson Jake Jenkins. He’d just moved in a few weeks ago and was apparently… a “character.” I knocked on the door, and a greasy, sweaty guy with pockmarked skin opened it. “Excuse me,” I said politely, “have you seen my food delivery?” He waved me off, annoyed. “I’ve been home all day. Why would I have seen your food?” If it weren’t for the trail of sauce on the floor—and the telltale grease on his lips—I might’ve believed him. Before I could say anything else, he slammed the door in my face. I sighed and shook my head. Maybe I was just too hungry to think straight. But deep down, I knew I’d been right. This wasn’t the first time. I’d lost count of how many deliveries had gone missing. Burgers, milkshakes, donuts—he didn’t discriminate. As long as it was food, he’d take it. But tonight’s timing was suspicious. The delivery driver had barely left before I came back downstairs. It couldn’t have been anyone else. And now that I thought about it, all of this started happening right after Jake moved in. He’d already made a stellar impression when he first joined the neighborhood group chat: “Nowadays women don’t know how to live within their means. Always ordering takeout instead of cooking like real women. Total waste of money!” At the time, I’d just rolled my eyes and ignored him. I thought he was just another internet troll who happened to live next door. But then he doubled down a week later—and even had the nerve to tag me directly. So, of course, I clapped back: “Look, I know you’re not the brightest bulb in the box, but maybe don’t let your mouth bypass your brain next time? And seriously, if you’re so obsessed with other people’s business, why don’t you go sample the septic truck outside to see if it’s salty enough?” After that, Jake gave me death glares every time he saw me. Hungry and furious, I called my best friend to vent. “You’re such an idiot,” she said, exasperated. “Don’t you have a security camera by your door? Just check the footage!” I smacked my forehead. Of course! I’d installed a camera after the last time my food got stolen, but I’d been too hangry to think straight. I opened the app on my phone and rewound the footage. And there he was: Jake Jenkins, in all his glory. The video showed him sneaking out of his apartment, snatching my food from the floor, and running back inside. Crawfish sauce dripped everywhere as he muttered under his breath: “Crawfish? What a spoiled little brat. Must be nice to have the money to waste on food like this. Stupid gold-digger!” I was so angry I could feel steam coming out of my ears. Mrs. Jenkins seemed like such a sweet old lady. How could her grandson be such a nightmare? When I told my best friend what happened, she just shook her head and laughed. “Haven’t you ever heard the saying, ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’? Check your footage again—I bet you’ll find something even worse.” I didn’t believe her. But oh, how wrong I was. 2 When Jake opened the door, he casually snatched up my delivery like it was his own. Standing beside him, Mrs. Jenkins, the sweet old lady from across the hall, was on the lookout, her eyes darting left and right. She didn’t look like the kind, grandmotherly woman I knew. Her face twisted with disdain as she spat on the ground. “Takeout again? That little tramp sure loves wasting money. Whoever marries her is gonna have their family rolling in their graves!” Then she crouched down and inspected the flowerpot she’d placed near my door. “Jake, does this thing need new batteries? If it dies, we won’t capture anything useful.” I froze as I zoomed in on the screenshot from my security footage. A chill ran down my spine. The flowerpot had a plum blossom design on it, but hidden in the tree’s trunk was an incredibly tiny hole—just big enough for a pinhole camera. That flowerpot had been a “housewarming gift” from Mrs. Jenkins. When I’d told her I wasn’t great with plants, she’d said, “Don’t worry, just leave it by your door—I’ll help water it when I pass by.” Turns out, it wasn’t about watering at all. It was about surveillance. Jake suddenly cursed, snapping me back to the present. “This stupid chick is such a pain in the ass! I’ve already taken the deposit, and the guys in the group are waiting on something good!” He spat the words out, pacing angrily. “Every day, she goes out dressed like a damn nun. Who does she think she’s fooling?” Then he turned and barked at Mrs. Jenkins, clearly irritated. “Didn’t you say you’d already earned her trust? Why are we still getting nowhere? Get your act together and cozy up to her so we can plant the equipment inside her apartment already. “The guys in the group love her prim-and-proper act. If we catch something juicy, I’ll be rolling in cash once I sell it!” The two of them kept whispering by my door, but I’d heard enough. Jake wasn’t just a petty thief. He was the ringleader of an online group that profited from secretly filming women and selling the footage. And Mrs. Jenkins? She wasn’t just his doting grandmother. She was his accomplice. I shuddered. Thank God I always dressed conservatively when I went out. If I hadn’t, who knows what they might’ve already captured? Their scheme was disturbingly calculated. They used Mrs. Jenkins’ frail, grandmotherly appearance to lower the guard of women living alone. She’d bring over cookies, make small talk, and offer help until she gained their trust. Once inside, they’d install hidden cameras to spy on their victims. If it weren’t for Jake’s habit of stealing my food, I never would’ve discovered what was really going on. Judging by how smoothly they worked together, I was sure I wasn’t their first target. God only knows how many women had already been victimized. As I continued watching the footage, their actions proved even more disgusting. After their whispered conversation, they carefully sliced a small hole into my doormat and installed another hidden camera—this time angled to capture upskirt shots. When they’d finished, Mrs. Jenkins lovingly patted Jake on the head. “My smart boy. You’re gonna make your grandma proud!” Then she laughed cruelly and added: “That little tramp acts so innocent, but I’ve seen through her fake act. Spending $50, $100 on takeout like it’s nothing? She’s definitely making her money the dirty way, probably sleeping around to earn it! “We’re doing her a favor by filming her. If anything, she should be thanking us for helping her… advertise! Who knows, maybe one day she’ll come begging us to film more!” There were only two apartments on this floor, and they clearly hadn’t noticed the hidden position of my security camera. They thought I was an easy target. They thought I wouldn’t fight back. But as the video ended, my blood ran cold—and then boiled with anger. The sweet, grandmotherly Mrs. Jenkins wasn’t just a wolf in sheep’s clothing. She was a predator in human skin. It wasn’t too late to stop them. Let’s see who’s really tougher when the fight begins. 3 The next morning, Mrs. Jenkins knocked on my door bright and early. She stood there with her usual sweet smile, holding a trendy preserved flower arrangement in her hands. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice dripping with kindness. “I’ve failed you. I should’ve kept a better eye on things for you. “You mentioned how real flowers are such a hassle to take care of, didn’t you? Well, I heard these preserved flowers are all the rage now. They smell lovely, and you don’t have to water them! Please, take this as my apology for not looking out for you properly.” If I hadn’t seen the security footage, I might’ve genuinely fallen for her act. But if it’s a performance she wants, then I’ll play along. Feigning excitement, I gasped and took the flowers from her hands. “Oh my gosh! I can’t believe this! I’ve wanted one of these forever, but they’re always sold out! Mrs. Jenkins, you’re amazing for finding one. Thank you so much!” The preserved flowers were vibrant and fragrant, radiating charm as they sat in my arms. But all I could think was: Where’s the camera hidden this time? Back inside, I placed the flowers on my dining table. I didn’t want to tip them off just yet. If they wanted to spy on me, fine—I’d give them something to watch. Sitting directly in front of the flowers, I started a mock “mukbang.” I stuffed my face theatrically, smirking at the thought of them getting frustrated on the other side of the camera. Let’s see if watching me eat drives you crazy. As I ate, I replayed everything in my mind, plotting my next move. Letting people like Jake and Mrs. Jenkins get away with this wasn’t an option. My philosophy has always been simple: Never let the wicked walk free. Jake was a disgusting creep, and Mrs. Jenkins was a manipulative old hag. People like them deserved to rot behind bars. But before that, I planned to have a little fun. They needed to understand what it felt like to mess with the wrong person. I was halfway through my “show” when I heard shouting in the hallway. Quietly, I crept to the door and peeked through the peephole. Jake was standing there, his bloated face red with fury as he screamed at Mrs. Jenkins. “You useless old hag! Can’t even cook a decent meal! What the hell are you good for?” He jabbed a finger at her face, his voice dripping with venom. “If it weren’t for you killing my parents, I wouldn’t be stuck in this miserable situation! You screw up one more time, and I swear, I’m kicking you out! I’m done taking care of dead weight!” He slammed his door shut with so much force, it rattled the hallway. Mrs. Jenkins collapsed onto the floor, sobbing loudly. If I hadn’t known better, I might’ve felt sorry for her. An elderly woman, humiliated and berated by her own grandson—it was pitiful. Hell, I might’ve even opened my door, invited her inside, and tried to comfort her. But I knew better. She was cunning, and this was all part of their game. If I let her in, it would only give her more opportunities to worm her way into my life. Still, she committed to the act. Between sobs, she kept glancing toward my door, her eyes darting back and forth. Ah, so this is the plan. A little “pity party” for me to see through the hidden camera. She started wailing even louder, slapping her thighs dramatically. “Why am I still alive? Why hasn’t the good Lord taken me yet?” she cried. “I’m doing this for you, Jake! The doctor said your uric acid is high, and you can’t eat those foods anymore. I’m just trying to help you!” Her words carried a sharp edge of bitterness, as if she were airing her real grievances with Jake while keeping up the charade. I couldn’t help but laugh quietly. The performance was impressive, but painfully transparent. I walked away from the door, leaving her to stew in her fake misery. “Don’t worry,” I thought to myself. “The storm that’s coming for you is already on its way.”

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