Chapter 5 - The Landlord and the Threat
The taxi dropped Grace and Noah off two blocks away from their apartment building in East Boston. Walking the remaining distance in the swirling snow was cheaper than paying the driver to navigate the narrow, unplowed side streets.
Noah clutched the white bakery box containing the wrapped remnant of his birthday cake, his cheeks rosy with cold and excitement.
“Mom, that was the best birthday ever!” Noah beamed, his boots crunching loudly in the fresh powder. “Did you see that steak? And the chocolate cake with the sparkler? I bet even the mayor doesn't get cake like that!”
Grace smiled down at him, adjusting his woolen scarf tighter around his neck. “It was definitely a very special night, sweetie. But let’s get inside before your toes turn to icicles.”
The building above the old coin-operated laundromat looked even more dismal in the winter dark. The neon sign for Laundromat flickered with a dying, epileptic buzz, casting a sickly green glow over the cracked concrete steps. The heavy metal entrance door groaned as Grace pushed it open with her shoulder, guiding Noah up the narrow, unlit stairwell that smelled perpetually of bleach, stale tobacco, and damp laundry detergent.
Their apartment on the third floor was small—a cramped studio with peeling floral wallpaper, a rattling space heater in the corner, and a single window overlooking the dark expanse of the harbor.
But it was clean. Grace kept it as spotless as humanly possible, arranging Noah’s schoolbooks neatly on a plastic crate that served as a nightstand.
“Go wash your hands, Noah, and get into your pajamas,” Grace instructed, setting her cracked purse down on the small Formica kitchen table. “I’ll make some hot cocoa with the milk we have left.”
Before Noah could reply, a heavy, brutal pounding shook the wooden apartment door.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Grace froze. Her blood turned to ice. She looked at the clock on the wall—it was just past nine o’clock.
Noah instinctively stepped behind her skirt, his small fingers grabbing the fabric of her coat. “Mom? Who’s that?”
“Stay here, sweetheart,” Grace whispered, her voice trembling as she walked toward the door. She reached out and twisted the brass deadbolt, pulling the door open a few inches while keeping the security chain latched.
Standing in the dimly lit hallway was Victor Sterling.
Sterling was a greasy, thick-necked man in a cheap polyester suit, smelling strongly of stale whiskey and cheap cologne. He was the property manager representing the real estate conglomerate that had recently bought the entire block from the bank.
“Mrs. Carter,” Sterling sneered, not bothering to remove his wet fedora. “Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence. I’ve been knocking for twenty minutes.”
“Mr. Sterling,” Grace said, keeping her voice as steady as she could while blocking his view of the apartment. “I told you on Monday. The weekly rent check is scheduled for Friday when I get paid from my cleaning shift at the medical center.”
Sterling let out a harsh, barking laugh that echoed down the hallway.
“Friday? Oh, that’s rich, Mrs. Carter. Real rich.” Sterling shoved a thick, gloved finger against the edge of the door, straining the security chain. “The rules changed as of today. Corporate management sent down a new directive. All arrears must be cleared in full within twenty-four hours, or eviction notices go out on every door in this building.”
Grace felt the floor drop out from under her. “Twenty-four hours? But my lease says—”
“Your lease is toilet paper,” Sterling interrupted brutally, his eyes cold and devoid of any human empathy. “The building is being torn down in the spring to make room for luxury condominiums. We want the tenants out early. So here’s your choice, sweetheart: you come up with twelve hundred dollars in back rent and next month’s deposit by tomorrow noon, or you and your brat pack your bags and sleep in the snow.”
“Please,” Grace begged, tears finally spilling over her lashes as she thought of Noah standing just ten feet away. “Give me until the end of the week. I sold my wedding ring last month. I’m working two jobs. I’ll find the money—”
“Not my problem,” Sterling spat, giving the door a sharp shove that rattled the deadbolt in its frame. “Tomorrow at noon. Be packed.”
May you like
With that, he turned on his heel and stomped down the metal stairs, leaving the heavy silence of the hallway behind him.
Grace slowly closed the door, sliding down until she hit the cold linoleum floor, burying her face in her hands as silent, crushing sobs racked her slender frame.
