Page 3 of Property of Azrael

“How many days will you need?”

“Thursday and Friday, at least. Oh, and possibly the following Monday.”

Melinda looks over something on her screen before conveying, “It looks like Betty will be back from her vacation, so I guess it’s fine.”

“Really?” I squeal.

“Whoa there, Hallie,” she admonishes through a short bark of laughter. “You’re taking on Mrs. Floyd’s pitch.”

“I don’t think I can.”

It’s happening. I’m really going to MMM. Holy. Freaking. Crap.

AZRAEL

Why the helldid I agree to take this meeting?

Oh, that’s right. My brother’s a bleeding heart for charity cases.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against helping those in need, but this case is more than a simple fix. Every corner of this mansion’s foundation is cracked, and it’s slowly sinking. That alone is a minimum of ten thousand dollars. Add in the rotting floor joists, as well as the need for at least two more structural beams on the first floor and in the basement, the amount just skyrockets. It would make more sense to demo the place or set it ablaze. This venture is a lost cause, but the leggy blonde the mayor sent in to pitch the idea of restoring it to us doesn’t seem to notice my disinterest.

“This property has been in the community for the last one hundred and seven years,” she announces, clicking the remote in her hand to shift the presentation to an image of the house back in the early nineteen hundreds. “Originally built as a school, it has served the community in various formats, such as a children’s home, a storm shelter, and a community center, until its closure back in 2017.”

She clearly meant to say it was condemned, because how this place is still standing is beyond me. The Webster Home had been an eyesore, and then three years ago, the city purchased it from the last remaining member of the Webster family. It’s common knowledge that they had big plans for the space, but those big plans backfired when the pandemic hit and their funding dried up.

“And the intended use for the space will be what?” I inquire.

“The mayor intends to make it a senior center, with a separate outdoor area for a community garden.” She clicks the remote and pulls up the next image. The whole façade of the building has been updated with brick, and the area garden takes up most of the yard. “This is our most recent mock-up with the architect.”

“I see,” I murmur, tugging at the knot of my tie, my eyes narrowing at the screen. “The mayor is aware of the state of this building, correct?”

“He is, but he hopes that someone of your talents can help us realize this dream for the community.” She bites her lip as she smiles. Jesus. The mayor sent in the big guns to make this deal. Blondie flips her long hair over her shoulder and smiles at me, but it’s not one of those sweet smiles. No. This smile is all about making an impression. And by impression, I mean distract me enough to commit my crew and funds to this shit show of a project.

“Ms. Myers, this level of construction is far more extensive than we were originally led to believe. The structure is unsound.”

“We’re aware.”

“I don’t think you are,” I bite back. “This property should be condemned.”

I peer over at my twin brother, Asher, the business manager of our engineering and construction company.

With a wide smile, the fucker looks at me as he says to blondie, “I think what my brother is trying to say is, this will be a challenging project.”

I glare back at him. Challenging isn’t the apt term I would use to describe this mess. Dumpster fire or money pit would be a better description. This project will never get off the ground without support, and right now, I’m not so sure my firm should be the first to take the bait from the hook. Not with the plans I had for our own future for this business and our motorcycle club.

“It is, but I hope you both can see that a senior center would be a benefit to our community. If the last few years have shown us anything, it’s that a community working together is a powerful community.”

Jesus, she’s laying the bullshit on thick. If this were one of my standard paying clients, I wouldn’t bat an eye as long as the check cleared. What they do with their money is their own business. What I do with mine and my employees’ time is something entirely different. We have plenty of jobs going around between our legitimate work and our club’s projects. The ones that are off the books are taking up more of our time lately, which puts us behind on our day job projects. Fucking trafficking. Over the years, drug and human trafficking has hit an all-time high in our area. Being on the direct route from Chicago to Indianapolis doesn’t fucking help things, either.

Blondie clears her throat and flashes me that sultry say yes to this project smile again. The first I can get behind, because frankly, I’ve hit a bit of a dry spell over the last few months. The latter, I’ll need to think more about.

“We’ll take your proposal under advisement and give you our answer next week.”

“Next week?” she questions, hope flickering in her dark blue eyes. “The mayor was hoping for an answer today.”

“Yes, next week,” I repeat. “My firm is taking a team-building trip. We’ll be out of the office.”

Asher cocks his brow, noting my lie.

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