Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
What the heck was that all about?
Because I’m not buying the “sick friend” excuse for a second. In fact, I’d bet several yards of my apparently excellent L-grade copper plumbing that he faked getting a text.
Faked it.
Faked it and flat out lied to my face.
To. My. Face!
And that so isn’t Anthony.
At least not the man I’ve known so far…
But what if I’ve been fooling myself? What if I don’t know him at all? What if he has dark secrets or illegal gambling debt…or a wife?
God, please don’t let him have a wife.
I’m so stupidly in love with him that a bookie out to give him a pair of concrete shoes sounds like the lesser of those evils.
“Yep, the foundation is rock solid,” Dave says, running his hand along the wall as I struggle to focus on something other than the thought that Anthony might have spotted someone who knew his wife outside my building and been forced to bail in order to keep his double life from being discovered. “Real granite blocks, perfectly fitted,” Dave continues. “You don’t see craftsmanship like this anymore. They really built things to last back then. And you’re well out of the flood zone. That’s huge in this neighborhood. Huge. The buildings down the shore are getting hit every few years with damage, even when we don’t have a hurricane come through. And when we do? Fuhgeddaboutit.”
His New York accent is so thick it’s adorable. Or it would be, if I were in a state to find anything adorable right now.
Still, I force a smile, “Well, that all sounds great so far!”
“Yeah, well, I wanted to give you the good news first,” the older man says with a heavy sigh that ruffles his thick gray moustache. “There’s some not-so-great news, too.”
“Uh-oh,” I say, my stomach coiling into a stress knot.
“Yeah,” Dave agrees, leading the way back up the stairs. “Sorry to say it’s not all roses and copper pipes. That’s why I wanted to be here myself for the walk-through. Kyle’s a good guy, but he’s still new. With a situation as complex as this one, I wanted to be sure you knew exactly what you were getting yourself into.”
“Oh, no,” I squeak, my voice now as tight as my tummy. “What are we talking about? Asbestos? Lots and lots of asbestos?”
“Nah, you’re good there. The remediation was done in the late 80s, before it changed owners the last time.” He pauses in front of an ancient-looking electrical box at the back of the first-floor hallway. He opens it up to reveal a rusted-out tangle, I instantly know isn’t kosher. “But the wiring is original to the building, and this isn’t even close to being up to code. I don’t know how they got away with leaving it like this for so long, but it’s a hot mess. And a dangerous one. We’re talking cloth-wrapped copper, old ceramic fixtures, the works. You’re looking at a complete rewire—every unit, top to bottom.” He emits another heavy sigh. “Including the two illegal units in what used to be the attic. I could not find permits for the life of me for those. So, you’d have to apply for them after the fact, which is always tricky, and likely to involve construction expenses to get those up to code, too. That’s your best-case scenario. Worst case, they make you evict the tenants and close the whole attic up again.”
“Close it up?” I wheeze, thoughts racing as I mentally do the math on losing the income from two of the units and instantly realize there’s no way the building cash flows in that state.
Not to mention the poor tenants who would lose their homes.
“Yep.” He shakes his head as he closes the panel with a disgusted grunt. “Damned shame considering this old girl has such great bones.”
I gulp in air, fighting to keep panic at bay. There might still be a way to salvage the sale. If I go to the seller with proof of all the problems found in the inspection, they’ll have to drop the price…won’t they?
“Okay, so let’s assume I get permits for the attic units,” I say. “Any idea the ballpark cost to get those and the electric up to code?”
“Ballpark? Well, I can’t say for sure, obviously, but I’m guessing… Maybe three hundred thousand for the attic and wiring? Maybe a little more if lumber’s pricey when you start the renovation?” He shakes his head. “And I haven’t even gotten to the issues with the unit on the third floor. All those doorways there have to be widened, every single one. None of that is regulation. And the two-bedroom on the second floor has serious water damage in the bathroom. That whole subfloor needs to be ripped out and replaced before that cast iron tub falls through the ceiling into your lobby.”