Closed for DunyainWolf
My fist rapped against the oak door. I knew from considerable experience just the right speed and frequency of impact produced the best noise to effort ratio. I paused for a moment to listen. "Miss Carlisle?" I called. "Miss Carlisle, it's Jacob Trask, your landlord."
I paused again to listen. Very distantly, I heard a muffled voice from inside. Having spent a fair bit of my working life listening through doors, I was reasonably confident that I'd heard something like "Just a minute." Since that seemed to bode well for the opening of the door, I ceased my knocking.
I shuffled through the file folder in my hand. Miss Carlisle had been fairly young for her lease, but being the daughter of Randall Carlisle. He was a regular contender for the top 25 wealthiest Americans, so that kind of bank account backing you opens considerable doors.
Unfortunately, that backing appeared to have dried up in recent months. Miss Carlisle's monthly rent payments had started to dwindle in size a few months ago. She was now nearly a full two months behind and her last check had been denied for insufficient funds. I'd let her coast given her family name, but various written reminders had not corrected the situation. More direct interaction was required.
I couldn't be certain, but my guess was that Daddy had cut her off. I wasn't much of a fan of the society pages, but even I heard about the quite public falling-out the two had at some charity event a few months ago. The row had been quite embarrassing for him in the press. It seemed likely that was why her rent check was for half the required amount.
I had no clue what Miss Carlisle was doing to make ends meet. She was an undeniably beautiful creature. For a time in her early teens, she'd even done some fashion work. Unfortunately, that had apparently disappeared as she matured; the fashion world favors skinny and lean, whereas bountiful curves like Miss Carlisle's are typically the province of pornographic magazines. I'd be a liar if I denied sneaking glances at her bouncing bosom whenever she strode through the lobby.
Regardless of her undeniable sex appeal and the value of her family name, her rent was still going unpaid. I was here to set up restitution or begin the eviction process. Something had to be done.
My fist rapped against the oak door. I knew from considerable experience just the right speed and frequency of impact produced the best noise to effort ratio. I paused for a moment to listen. "Miss Carlisle?" I called. "Miss Carlisle, it's Jacob Trask, your landlord."
I paused again to listen. Very distantly, I heard a muffled voice from inside. Having spent a fair bit of my working life listening through doors, I was reasonably confident that I'd heard something like "Just a minute." Since that seemed to bode well for the opening of the door, I ceased my knocking.
I shuffled through the file folder in my hand. Miss Carlisle had been fairly young for her lease, but being the daughter of Randall Carlisle. He was a regular contender for the top 25 wealthiest Americans, so that kind of bank account backing you opens considerable doors.
Unfortunately, that backing appeared to have dried up in recent months. Miss Carlisle's monthly rent payments had started to dwindle in size a few months ago. She was now nearly a full two months behind and her last check had been denied for insufficient funds. I'd let her coast given her family name, but various written reminders had not corrected the situation. More direct interaction was required.
I couldn't be certain, but my guess was that Daddy had cut her off. I wasn't much of a fan of the society pages, but even I heard about the quite public falling-out the two had at some charity event a few months ago. The row had been quite embarrassing for him in the press. It seemed likely that was why her rent check was for half the required amount.
I had no clue what Miss Carlisle was doing to make ends meet. She was an undeniably beautiful creature. For a time in her early teens, she'd even done some fashion work. Unfortunately, that had apparently disappeared as she matured; the fashion world favors skinny and lean, whereas bountiful curves like Miss Carlisle's are typically the province of pornographic magazines. I'd be a liar if I denied sneaking glances at her bouncing bosom whenever she strode through the lobby.
Regardless of her undeniable sex appeal and the value of her family name, her rent was still going unpaid. I was here to set up restitution or begin the eviction process. Something had to be done.