Braving The Storm

4 - Trouble in Paradise

I found Milton quite easily this time.

To put it bluntly, he could smell money from a mile away like a bloodhound. The moment I managed to get through to him on the phone, he was weirdly able to sense that I had something good for him.

His “office” was actually a stuffy room in his house that smelled strongly of ginger and bad food. I tried not to retch as I drew my seat in.

“So, Mary,” He began. I didn't like that he called me Mary. Yes, it was my name, but I didn't like that he used it more often than anyone else. I tried not to show my displeasure. “You asked to see me.”

About a hundred times since the last month, douchebag, but nobody's talking about that so let's move on.

“Yes,” I breathed. “Um, my deadline is two months away and you said I could still acquire legal title to the real estate,. . .”

He started to speak.

“And you said you'd get me a witness to transfer the deed if I can make enough money before my deadline and cover my old taxes so they could see that I can manage the house. That was the agreement, Milton. You promised me.”

He exhaled. “I know I promised, Mary. I promised your father too that I'd see to it that you don't lose the house. I'm really trying here.”

Are ya? I wanted to cheek.

“But these people. . . they don't only have money, they got influence. Deadline or not, they have experience with real estate. Mr Irving owns them in six states and is looking to acquire more, he won't let you take this one just because you managed to whip up a few bucks before the deadline.”

“He's going to build a playground for a preschooler.” I stated just to remind him that my reasons for wanting to keep my house and Mr Irving’s reason had an insane contrast.

“Nobody cares what he wants to do with the house, Mary.” Milton stressed and leaned back into his chair. I couldn't see the chair because he covered the space around it. One would think he was sitting midair, but that would count as exercise, and Milton hated the very word.

“So they're going to kick me out just like that? I'm making the effort here.” I pointed to my chest, eyes brimming with tears. I ripped the envelope open, counted a few separate bucks and dumped the rest on his desk. “There. That's my effort, and if it isn't enough then Irving can go screw himself.”

“Calm down, Mary.”

I stood up. “No, you calm down, Milton. I know you collect money from them and you're gonna help them get the house. A promise doesn't matter.”

A dangerous look flickered across his face. “I think you're starting to get off the point.”

“What point? There's never been a point since those rich folks picked interest in where I live. It isn't fair that you know how hard I'm trying and you still chose to help them. You make me sick, Milton. If my father were still alive. . .”

I trailed off, turning away as tears spilled out of my eyes. Without a second thought, I picked up my purse.

“Screw it!”

The truck vibrated as I slammed the door shut and stepped on the gas. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I worked, Milton would lean toward the steady influx of money. Damn the promise he made to a dying man, he was going to go after his pocket.

I swerved into the empty parking space of The Wipeout. I'd left Supe with Don since he always went home last. I had no intention of wasting so much time and was already putting on an apologetic face as I hurried down the aisle.