Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
She did not answer, walking toward her bedroom and letting her silk robe trail behind her.
On Thursday afternoon, I sat at my desk in my bedroom, the brass desk lamp casting a pale circle over my client spreadsheets.
My bedroom desk was small, crammed between my bed and the closet, leaving me barely enough room to move my chair.
On my laptop screen, Keith’s face looked pale and exhausted against the corporate backdrop of his office.
He clicked his blue ballpoint pen three times before he spoke.
“The quarter-three metrics are late, Lauren,” Keith said, his voice clipped.
“The client is asking for the regional slide deck by tomorrow morning.”
Behind my closed bedroom door, the television in the living room blared.
It was a daytime talk show, the high-pitched voices of the hosts vibrating through the drywall of my bedroom.
Keith paused, his eyes shifting as he listened to the noise coming through my microphone.
“Is that a television, Lauren?” he asked.
“I thought you had a dedicated quiet space for client calls.”
