"I'm going right now. Perhaps you should speak to Mr. Bartlett and decide together what you want to do about this space."
"I'll tell you right now what I want to do. Nothing. For all I know, he's fixing this up so he can move in some tart. We've lived here for twenty‑eight years and he's never done anything down here. So why is that tightfisted SOB suddenly deciding to renovate?"
"That would be an excellent question to ask him."
"You're screwing him, aren't you?" she demanded, wrinkled brow furrowed and dim eyes seething. "Like that other little whore of his. That's why he hired you. Well, let me tell you something. I'll outlive you both."
Without another word she turned and got into the elevator.
Monday, April 6
12:18 P.M.