Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
Keith ran a finger down the margin of the top sheet, his eyes scanning the numbers. “Client facing operations require a dedicated, professional environment. If the remote pipeline is compromised by domestic variables, we will have to transition you back to a physical cubicle here on the third floor. We cannot risk our account retention over temporary living arrangements.”
“I will keep the door closed,” I said. “I have my files and my brass desk lamp set up on the small table in my bedroom now.”
“We will review the data on Thursday,” Keith said, turning toward the elevator bank. “Our agency protocols do not allow for performance drops under any circumstances. Keep the communication lines clear.”
He stepped into the elevator before I could explain that the noise of Vanessa’s television was already coming through my bedroom wall.
By Tuesday evening at six o’clock, the quiet I relied on to review my weekly reports was gone entirely. Vanessa was sitting at the kitchen table, a stack of unopened mail and retail circulars pushed aside to make room for her laptop. The stained oak coffee table in the living room was covered in her magazines, and the smell of her floral perfume hung heavy in the small hallway.
