But at family dinners, the stress was visible. Jessica looked exhausted. Thinner, dark circles under her eyes.
“How’s the company?” Mom asked.
“Fine, just busy.”
“Are you sure? You look tired.”
“Startups are hard, Mom. But we’re making progress.”
She wasn’t making progress. She was drowning.
In March 2024, they didn’t pay rent at all.
David called me.
“No payment, no communication. What do you want to do?”
“Send a notice of default. Give them 10 days to cure or we start eviction proceedings.”
“You want to evict your sister?”
“I want to enforce the lease. This is a business relationship. If she can’t pay rent, she can’t occupy the space.”
“I’ll send the notice.”
Jessica called me that evening.
“Sarah, did you know the landlord is threatening to evict us?”
“What happened?”
“We’re behind on rent. Just a few weeks, but they’re being really aggressive about it.”
“How far behind?”
“Like 6 weeks, maybe $20,000 total.”
“Actually, $43,200. 3 months of rent.”
“Jessica, that’s 3 months.”
“I know, but we have investors coming to visit. We need the office to show them we’re real. If we get evicted, we lose the funding round.”
“Can you catch up on rent?”
“If we get the funding, yes, but we need 30 days, maybe 60.”
“Have you talked to the landlord?”
“I tried. There’s some faceless LLC. The property manager just sends form letters. No flexibility.”
“Maybe if you explained your situation.”
“I tried. They don’t care. Corporate investors. They just want their rent check.”
I said nothing.
“Can you lend me $20,000?” Jessica asked. “Just to catch up on rent. I’ll pay you back when we close the round. Jessica, please. I’m desperate. This company is everything to me. I can’t let it die because of some greedy landlord.”
I took a breath.
“I can’t lend you $20,000.”
“Why not? You make good money. You live in a studio. You have savings.”
“My finances are more complicated than you think.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I can’t just hand you $20,000.”
“Some sister you are.”
She hung up.
In April 2024, we started formal eviction proceedings. Legal notice, court filings, the whole process.
Jessica was furious. At family dinner, she ranted about the corporate vulture landlord who wouldn’t work with startups.
“They’re killing my company,” she said. “Over $43,000. That’s nothing to them, but everything to us.”
“Maybe you should have paid your rent,” Dad said carefully.
“I was trying to keep the company alive. Rent or payroll? I chose payroll. I chose keeping my team employed.”
“But you signed a lease,” Mom said.
“I know I signed a lease, but there should be some humanity in business. Some understanding that startups are hard.”
I ate my dinner silently.
“Sarah, you’re quiet,” Jessica said. “What do you think?”
“I think landlords have expenses, too. Property taxes, payments, mortgages. They can’t just forgive rent because a tenant is struggling.”
“That’s cold.”
“That’s reality.”
“You sound like a capitalist robot.”
“I sound like someone who understands business.”
“Whatever. You’ve never built anything. You just write code for other people’s companies. You don’t understand what it’s like to have everything on the line.”
I could have told her then about the building, about owning the space she was about to be evicted from, about building a multi-million dollar real estate portfolio while she assumed I was just a code monkey. But I didn’t. I just kept eating.
On April 15th, 2024, Jessica got approval from an investor for emergency bridge funding. $250,000, enough to pay back rent and buy three more months of runway.
She called me excited.
“We’re saved. The investor came through. We can pay the rent. Keep the office.”
“That’s great.”
“I’m going to go to the office tomorrow. Pay in person. Show the property manager we’re serious.”
“Good idea.”
The next day, April 16th, I had a meeting scheduled with David Chin to review Q1 financials. We’d scheduled it weeks ago. 10:00 a.m. at the building.
I arrived at 9:45 a.m. Parked in my reserved owner’s spot in the garage. I went to the building manager’s office on the first floor. David was already there preparing documents.
“Ready to review numbers?” he asked.
“Let’s do it.”
We went through the financials. Revenue was up 8% year-over-year. Expenses were controlled. Net operating income was strong.
“What about unit 3B?” I asked. “Are they current now?”
“Not yet, but the tenant called yesterday. Said she’s bringing payment today. Cashier’s check for full back rent.”
“Good.”
At 10:47 a.m., while David and I were reviewing maintenance expenses, my phone buzzed. Security calling.
“Miss Kim, there’s a situation in unit 3B. What’s going on?”
“The tenant is moving furniture into the conference room. They’re using it as storage. The space is getting crowded. Other tenants have complained about noise.”
“I’ll come up.”
I told David I’d be back in 15 minutes. Took the elevator to the third floor. I walked toward unit 3B. Through the glass walls, I could see chaos, boxes everywhere, inventory stacked in the conference room. The office that was designed for 12 people, now crammed with products and packaging materials.
I opened the door, walked in. Jessica was directing two employees who were moving boxes. She didn’t see me at first. Then she turned. Her face went from confusion to recognition to shock.
“Sarah, what are you doing here?”
“I have a meeting in the building.”
“Oh, well, we’re kind of busy. We’re reorganizing. Got a lot of inventory we need to store.”
I looked around.
“You’re using the office as a warehouse temporarily.”
“We’re growing. We need the space.”
An employee approached. Young woman, maybe 24.
“Jessica, where do you want these boxes?”
“Put them in that empty office.”
“That’s not empty,” the woman said. “Someone has a desk and computer in there.”
“They can work from home today. We need the space.”
I walked toward the office she was referring to. Saw a desk with files and a laptop. A name placard. David, head of engineering.
