Mr. H.O.A.

corner.
Darla was good to me. Actually, Darla was good to everyone. She was what we called the office mom. Since she'd dubbed herself that, the rest of us didn't have an issue rolling with it, because it really was true. Darla took care of all of us. Checking up on our health, remembering birthdays, feeding us, listening to us, and making us feel loved. I wanted to adopt her, if it were possible to adopt a mother.
"Now, I know it's a little early to bring up bad news, but Sterling called and wanted to go over the Stevens' offer with you."
"You're right, that is bad news." Any day I had to deal with Sterling Parsons was an unpleasant day. "Did he offer to buy the office again?"
"Yes, he said he'd bring you his own formal offer when he spoke with you about the Stevens."
"How lovely."
Darla set a cup of coffee in front of me before she poured herself a cup and sat down in the plush chair behind her desk. She brushed her gray bangs to the side and pulled her reading glasses out of their case.
I devoured the breakfast sandwich as she studied me.
"Bartholomew."
I snapped my head up at that. She only called me by my full name if it was serious. "Yes?"
"You look dreadful."
Pulling a napkin out of the bag, I dabbed at the corners of my mouth.
"No, not your eating habits. I mean that you look tired. Is everything all right?"
"It will be. Something unexpected came up with my apartment building, and they're doing a major reconstruction. It just means I'm running a little low on sleep right now." I wondered where Nola had ended up. She had seemed fairly mad. Maybe a little unhinged. But I couldn't help but worry about her. I hadn't seen a ring on her finger, and I assumed she lived by herself. I pushed thoughts of her aside. I couldn’t let her take up valuable brain space I could be using on something else—like finding my own place to live.
"You poor dear. You know you could always come stay with Patrick and me. His niece is staying with us right now with her three kids, but we could put an air mattress in the living room."
Patrick and Darla lived in a cute coastal style cottage. It had two bedrooms and one bathroom, and I was fairly certain they were bursting at the seams with six people there already. But it was just like her to want to take care of anyone in a tight spot. "Thank you for that. That means a lot to me, but I think I'll be fine."
"You promise you'll call if construction gets to be too much for you?" She pointed at me with her stack of sticky notes.
"Yes, I promise I'll call. Thanks for breakfast. If Sterling comes in by himself, keep him in the waiting room as long as possible."
She winked. "I always do."
Tossing the breakfast bag in the recycle bin, I headed to my office to finish listing another house. I don't know why I bothered. The Stevens' would be in the office in another hour with an offer for the place.
Too bad I hadn't had the foresight to have a backup rental for myself. I couldn't sleep at the office forever.

CHAPTER TWO
Homeowners Association Rule #1:
Any violation of the following rules will result in a fine.
Dear Mr. Moneytaker, I.e., Sebastian Mercier,
Thank you for evicting us from our apartments.
Thank you for giving us no time to pack our belongings and find a new home.
Thank you for keeping our deposits.
Thank you for having your head stuck up
The point is, sir, that you are a thief. A money taker. You don't care whose money it is. You have no trouble keeping money from people who can barely afford your crummy apartments. 
You can't expect those same people to even be able to afford a portion of your luxury apartments with the exorbitant prices you charge. You, sir, are out of your mind. 
With the prices you plan on charging for your luxury apartments, the tenants of The Market Street Apartment Complex couldn’t even afford to rent a supply closet from you.
I urge you to reconsider keeping the deposits of your latest tenants. If no reason is given, we will be forced to take civil action. (Even a court-appointed lawyer couldn't mess up this case against you.)
Sincerely,
A peon that you've robbed.
With a sigh, I folded the letter and slipped it into the envelope. I licked the glue before I pressed the flap down. There was something oddly satisfying about doing that. Licking an envelope and pressing it down always gave me a feeling of importance. I doubt the signers of the Declaration of Independence had felt as important writing their names as I did when I sealed an envelope.
I shook my head. It was quite possible that I had a slight overthinking problem.
I placed a stamp in the top right corner, then carefully printed out the address I knew by heart. I added the return address with the label: The Distressed Tenants of The Market Street Apartments.
Didn't Sebastian Mercier have enough money already? How could he possibly need more? Mr. Moneytaker was the latest moniker I'd given him. He was a money-making-machine. A triple M.
If he could squeeze a dollar out of a nun, he’d probably do it. If a run-down building didn't make as much as luxury apartments, he would destroy it. Forget that the building was home to at least a dozen people. Forget that Riverly was an extremely competitive place to find a home.
It had been two days since the eviction notice had shown up on my door. Two days. The apartment building was eerily silent. All the other tenants had vacated—even Chippy. I planned on staying until the demolition crew showed up. I had nowhere else to go.
I needed time to figure something out.
Standing up, I walked into the kitchen and opened my cupboards. I was completely out of mac and cheese. Condemned apartment or not,