Richard sat in the back of his Bentley, the engine idling with a low vibrating sound outside a modest real estate office in the Heights. Earlier that day he had decided he would do anything to force Giselle to see him and this was one of his whims. He was staring at a folder containing the deed information for Serayah’s apartment complex.
"Mr. Aris is ready for you, sir," Miller said, opening the car door.
Richard stepped out, adjusting his cufflinks. He didn't do "requests." He did acquisitions. He walked into the cramped, wood-panneled office where an elderly man in a corduroy jacket sat behind a desk piled high with paper.
"Mr. Hemingway," the man said, standing up. "I must say, I was shocked to get a call from your office. What could a man like you want with a twelve-unit walk-up in
