Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
My home office had been reduced to a single corner, but my performance metrics had already risen by twelve percent since I moved my monitors away from Vanessa’s clutter.
At ten past nine, a soft tap on the heavy wooden door of the studio broke the quiet.
I did not startle, nor did I rush to the entry, knowing that the only person who had my new address was the supervisor who had helped me load my coffee table onto the truck.
I opened the door to find Keith standing on the small covered landing, a thick cardboard folder tucked under his arm and a paper bag from the bakery down the street in his hand.
He wore his gray wool coat with the collar turned up against the damp air, his blue ballpoint pen clipped securely to his front pocket.
“I was at the printer’s three blocks over,” Keith said, nodding toward the bag of pastries. “The campaign brief for the land trust came in early, and I thought you might want the physical layouts before Monday morning.”
