My Penthouse Vanished Into Thin Air

Summary

The day after I closed on my condo, it vanished.

I’d spent ten years surviving on budget meals and packed lunches, squeezing onto overcrowded public transit every morning, all to save up the sixty thousand dollars for the down payment.

Finally, I’d secured a small corner unit, 1801, on the top floor of the Sycamores complex, right near my office.

But when I got home from work, the entire building was seventeen stories high. The eighteenth floor was simply gone.

My condo was gone. I was completely unmoored.

I chased down the seller, Mrs. Fion, and my realtor, Mark Jensen.