About this location
A few stories people tell about this place
1. One afternoon, as a little girl walked past the Law Offices of John C. Ye, she stopped abruptly and pointed up at the second floor window. Her mother looked over and saw nothing but an ordinary lawyer typing away. But the child insisted something strange was happening inside. Suddenly, out popped a paper airplane that soared through the open window and landed on the desk with a loud rustle. The lawyer jumped, his glasses sliding down his nose, while everyone in the office burst into laughter. Turns out it was just a neighbor’s mischievous kid, throwing paper airplanes from across the street.
2. One morning, while delivering documents, a young mail carrier noticed an unusual sight outside the Law Offices of John C.: a small dog kept circling around the building, sniffing intently at something invisible to everyone else. Curious, she approached and saw nothing but empty pavement. Suddenly, the little dog looked up at her with big, expectant eyes. Smiling, she petted him gently—only to feel a warm breeze brush past her cheek as if someone had just walked by unseen. The dog yipped once more, then bounded away into the misty morning air. To this day, locals sometimes claim they still catch fleeting whiffs of freshly brewed coffee from inside those mysterious law offices.
3. Late one night, a pizza delivery guy pulled up in front of the Law Offices of John C., only to notice something odd. The neon sign above the entrance seemed to flicker on and off in perfect rhythm with the deliveryman's heart rate. Finally, the delivery man couldn’t help but laugh. He leaned closer to the door and whispered, ‘John C., you’re killing me!’ Then he realized his phone was ringing—a client waiting for their documents.
4. One day, while waiting for the elevator, a new associate overheard an old man muttering, 'This place is cursed—every time I sign something here, my life takes a turn.' The young associate smiled and thought it was just an old tale until she signed her first contract that very afternoon. When she returned from lunch, the elevator doors opened, revealing the old man with a smile and a package wrapped in brown paper. ‘Just a delivery,’ he said, handing it to her. She unwrapped it later that night—it was a tin of homemade cookies labeled “John C. Ye’s Secret Recipe.” Since then, everyone jokes that maybe signing there does bring good luck after all.’