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Ready for renovation
We had barely absorbed these mini-shocks when it was time to venture downstairs to
the part of the house we'd never actually set foot in.
“To be honest, my brother hasn't finished moving out yet,” Armando warned us.
“But we take possession of the house tomorrow,” I protested. “When is he going to
clear out his stuff?”
“He'll be out,” Armando assured us, though with little conviction.
But what did it really matter? Although the house would technically be ours within
twenty-four hours (last-minute glitches notwithstanding), Armando's brother could prob-
ably camp out downstairs for at least a couple of more weeks without any serious repercus-
sions.
Who knew, maybe he'd still be there when we came back in February.
☼ ☼ ☼
Daniel, the property manager recommended by Michael's gym acquaintance, showed up
right on time with his partner Rod.
A pudgy, garrulous Southerner, Daniel did most of the talking and wasted no time put-
ting us in our place. During the first fifteen minutes of our meeting he made at least six or
seven pointed references to the wealth and general fabulousness of his other clients.
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