My name is Kevin, I’m 31 years old, and I live in Phoenix, Arizona. I moved into my apartment three years ago because it was affordable, quiet, and close to work. Nothing fancy—thin walls, old appliances, but manageable. My landlord, Mr. H., was distant but polite. As long as rent was paid on time, he left me alone.
That changed last summer.
One Friday afternoon, I found a notice taped to my door. It said my rent would increase by 28% starting the following month. No warning. No explanation. I reread it three times, convinced I’d missed something. I hadn’t. My lease renewal wasn’t for another six months.
I emailed my landlord immediately, asking if there had been a mistake. He replied hours later with one short sentence: “Market rates have changed.”
That didn’t make sense. I checked listings in my building and nearby complexes. Prices had gone up, sure—but not like that. When I pushed back, politely explaining that the increase would put me in a tough spot, he suggested I “consider other options if the unit no longer fit my budget.”
The timing felt off, but I couldn’t prove anything. So I started preparing to move.
A week later, I ran into my downstairs neighbor while checking the mail. She asked if I was leaving too. When I said maybe, she looked uncomfortable and lowered her voice. She told me a property management company had toured the building recently—with investors. Apparently, units with “stable, long-term tenants” were being targeted for aggressive increases to force people out.
The plan was simple: raise rent fast and high. Anyone who couldn’t pay would leave voluntarily. Once the unit was empty, it would be renovated cheaply and relisted as “luxury” for even more money.
Suddenly, everything clicked.
I asked around. Newer tenants hadn’t gotten increases. Only people who’d lived there longer. People like me. When I confronted my landlord with what I’d learned, he didn’t deny it. He just said, “That’s how business works now.”
I felt stupid for ever thinking loyalty mattered. For believing that being a quiet, reliable tenant meant something. I paid rent early every month. I fixed small things myself. None of it mattered.
I moved out two months later. The apartment was listed online the following week for nearly double what I’d been paying, advertised with photos taken at perfect angles to hide the cracks and peeling paint.
I didn’t lose my home because I did something wrong. I lost it because I stayed too long—and that made me expendable.
