Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
The air outside was thick and damp, carrying the sharp scent of wet asphalt and decay. When I reached the steps of the building, I stood on the porch for ten seconds to adjust my grip on my shoulder bag.
Vanessa was sitting on the sofa when I walked into the living room, her boots resting on my stained oak coffee table.
“We need the check,” Vanessa said.
She slipped her designer sunglasses down her nose to look over the rims at me, then pushed them back up onto her hair with a slow, deliberate movement.
“The first of the month is Tuesday,” I said, setting my keys on the counter.
“Eighteen hundred dollars,” she said, letting out a long, theatrical sigh that ended in a groan. “Mom said you need to write it out to me directly this time, so we do not have to do the bank transfer dance again.”
I turned my silver wrist watch dial back and forth, feeling the metal clicks against the pad of my thumb.
“I am not writing that check,” I said.
