Chapter 17
chapter 17
MAYA
Dave’s flashlight beam cuts through the basement gloom, illuminating century-old bricks and massive wooden support beams as he rambles on about the recent plumbing updates, a pleasant surprise in a structure that’s clearly been neglected for quite some time.
I want to focus on what he’s saying about the building’s excellent bones—this is what I’ve been waiting for, the moment I finally get the scoop on the biggest investment of my life—but all I can think about is the way Anthony balked like a spooked horse half a block from the apartment building.
What the heck was that all about?
Because I’m not buying the “sick friend” excuse for a second. In fact, I’d bet several yards of my apparently excellent L-grade copper plumbing that he faked getting a text.
Faked it.
Faked it and flat out lied to my face.
To. My. Face!
And that so isn’t Anthony.
At least not the man I’ve known so far…
But what if I’ve been fooling myself? What if I don’t know him at all? What if he has dark secrets or illegal gambling debt…or a wife?
God, please don’t let him have a wife.
I’m so stupidly in love with him that a bookie out to give him a pair of concrete shoes sounds like the lesser of those evils.
“Yep, the foundation is rock solid,” Dave says, running his hand along the wall as I struggle to focus on something other than the thought that Anthony might have spotted someone who knew his wife outside my building and been forced to bail in order to keep his double life from being discovered. “Real granite blocks, perfectly fitted,” Dave continues. “You don’t see craftsmanship like this anymore. They really built things to last back then. And you’re well out of the flood zone. That’s huge in this neighborhood. Huge. The buildings down the shore are getting hit every few years with damage, even when we don’t have a hurricane come through. And when we do? Fuhgeddaboutit .”
His New York accent is so thick it’s adorable. Or it would be, if I were in a state to find anything adorable right now.
Still, I force a smile, “Well, that all sounds great so far!”
“Yeah, well, I wanted to give you the good news first,” the older man says with a heavy sigh that ruffles his thick gray moustache. “There’s some not-so-great news, too.”
“Uh-oh,” I say, my stomach coiling into a stress knot.
“Yeah,” Dave agrees, leading the way back up the stairs. “Sorry to say it’s not all roses and copper pipes. That’s why I wanted to be here myself for the walk-through. Kyle’s a good guy, but he’s still new. With a situation as complex as this one, I wanted to be sure you knew exactly what you were getting yourself into.”
“Oh, no,” I squeak, my voice now as tight as my tummy. “What are we talking about? Asbestos? Lots and lots of asbestos?”
“Nah, you’re good there. The remediation was done in the late 80s, before it changed owners the last time.” He pauses in front of an ancient-looking electrical box at the back of the first-floor hallway. He opens it up to reveal a rusted-out tangle, I instantly know isn’t kosher. “But the wiring is original to the building, and this isn’t even close to being up to code. I don’t know how they got away with leaving it like this for so long, but it’s a hot mess. And a dangerous one. We’re talking cloth-wrapped copper, old ceramic fixtures, the works. You’re looking at a complete rewire—every unit, top to bottom.” He emits another heavy sigh. “Including the two illegal units in what used to be the attic. I could not find permits for the life of me for those. So, you’d have to apply for them after the fact, which is always tricky, and likely to involve construction expenses to get those up to code, too. That’s your best-case scenario. Worst case, they make you evict the tenants and close the whole attic up again.”
“Close it up?” I wheeze, thoughts racing as I mentally do the math on losing the income from two of the units and instantly realize there’s no way the building cash flows in that state.
Not to mention the poor tenants who would lose their homes.
“Yep.” He shakes his head as he closes the panel with a disgusted grunt. “Damned shame considering this old girl has such great bones.”
I gulp in air, fighting to keep panic at bay. There might still be a way to salvage the sale. If I go to the seller with proof of all the problems found in the inspection, they’ll have to drop the price…won’t they?
“Okay, so let’s assume I get permits for the attic units,” I say. “Any idea the ballpark cost to get those and the electric up to code?”
“Ballpark? Well, I can’t say for sure, obviously, but I’m guessing… Maybe three hundred thousand for the attic and wiring? Maybe a little more if lumber’s pricey when you start the renovation?” He shakes his head. “And I haven’t even gotten to the issues with the unit on the third floor. All those doorways there have to be widened, every single one. None of that is regulation. And the two-bedroom on the second floor has serious water damage in the bathroom. That whole subfloor needs to be ripped out and replaced before that cast iron tub falls through the ceiling into your lobby.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding with far more steadiness than I feel. “So, three hundred thousand, plus another seventy or so for the rest?”
He pulls a face. “I mean, maybe. If you’re lucky. But I’d say budget closer to a half million total for all the interior stuff. Just to be safe.”
The number hits like a physical blow.
Half a million just in basic infrastructure and safety concerns, and that’s before I tackle the cosmetic issues like the peeling wallpaper and ancient appliances that desperately need to be replaced.
“And then there’s the roof…” Dave starts, sounding nearly as upset as I feel.
“I thought you said it had ten years left?”
“Yeah, it’s good for a while, but the fire escape needs immediate attention, it's also not?—”
“Up to code,” I finish for him, his grim smile all the confirmation I need. “Is that it? Please tell me that’s it.”
He glances at his clipboard and exhales a weary sigh. “That’s it. Well, aside from the boiler. It’s running pretty good right now, but it’s ancient. Haven’t seen one like that since I was a kid. When it goes, that’s another thirty to fifty grand, depending on how you choose to replace it.”
My vision starts to blur.
This can’t be happening. I budgeted for serious repairs, yes, but nothing like this. This is…catastrophic. And I don’t see the seller dropping the price by more than two hundred thousand—tops.
That’s a drop in the bucket of what’s needed here, and even if I crunch the numbers and think I could justify a larger loan to cover the repairs, I’ve already maxed out my borrowing capacity.
I just…
I don’t think I can make this work.
“Look,” Dave says kindly, clearly reading the despair creeping across my face. “Your instincts are good. In the long run, I think this building is a great investment. And it could still be a good deal for the right buyer. But unless you’re sitting on a pile of cash you can use for the reno, I’d walk away from this one.”
“But I already put down twenty-seven thousand in earnest money,” I say, fighting to keep my voice from wobbling. “And I had to waive the inspection contingency to get them to accept my offer over the higher ones. If I bail now, I lose every dime I’ve put into the deal thus far.”
He mutters something beneath his breath as he smooths his moustache. “Well, that’s a shame. But if you were my daughter, I’d say to lose the earnest money if you have to. Better than getting in over your head with a bunch of debt in your twenties. That kind of debt can crush dreams, you know?”
I nod, fighting tears as my throat squeezes so tight I can barely breathe. Twenty-seven thousand might not be much to the typical New York City real estate investor, but it’s a huge chunk of cash for me. If I lose it, I won’t have enough for another down payment for at least a year or two. Maybe more.
But he’s probably right.
I’ll go crunch the numbers the way I planned, but right now I don’t see a way this ends in anything but disaster.
“Well, thank you,” I finally manage to force out as I thrust a hand his way. “I appreciate you. Thank you for such a comprehensive and thorough inspection.”
“Of course.” He gives my hand a gentle squeeze before handing over an envelope with my copy of the paperwork. “And I’m giving you the friends and family discount on this one. I’ll tell Tish to take that off before she sends your bill.”
Shit, the bill. That’s another two grand of my nest egg.
But Dave was totally worth it. As much as this is killing me right now, he likely saved me from making a terrible investment.
I thank him again before heading through the dingy lobby with the flickering orange light dangling from the ceiling and down the stairs into the cold morning air.
Outside, the winter sun feels too bright, the rays bouncing off the snow glaring into my tear-filled eyes.
I start walking fast, with no real destination in mind. I just need to move, to think, to find some way to rearrange the puzzle pieces until I pull off a miracle and make this work.
My phone buzzes and I reach for it like a lifeline, positive it’s Anthony checking in. Or better yet, explaining himself in some way that makes sense.
But it isn’t Anthony. It’s Sydney, asking why the hell I didn’t tell her I was going to be in the city. Apparently, she saw my mother at the store in Sea Breeze and learned I was spending the holidays alone in New York.
On impulse I bypass the text explanation and tap her contact button.
She answers on the first ring. “Well, hello, mysterious one. Why are you being so mysterious? And why are you in New York City alone? Better question, do you want to go to the spa with me tomorrow before I fly back to Maine? I’m going to need a massage after this meeting. The dude bros on this project are dude bro-ing too close to the sun. I’m about to lose every last bit of my cool and fire everyone, even if it is the holiday season.”
“I hate dude bros,” I say with a sniff, her sweet, familiar voice bringing all my emotions swirling back to the surface. “And I hate myself a little right now, too.”
“What? Don’t you dare hate on my Maya,” she says, sounding outraged on my behalf. “Maya is the best.”
“I’ve messed up, Syd,” I confess. “Like…a lot.” I suck in a breath, Anthony’s face flashing through my head as I add, “Maybe a whole lot. Can we meet somewhere later? To talk?”
“Absolutely,” she says, without a second of hesitation, proving I have the best friends in the world. “My meeting ends at two. Want to do Oscar Wilde at three? That gorgeous bar near Herald Square we hit the last time you were in town?”
I nod, relief loosening my whip tight jaw. “Yes. Thank you. I’ll be there. You’re a lifesaver. I can’t wait to talk.”
“Me, too,” she says. “And it’s going to be okay, Maya Moo, I promise. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. We always do.”
“Yeah,” I say, fighting tears again. “We do. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” she says, ending the call just as another text buzzes into my inbox.
But, once again, it isn’t Anthony. It’s a beach bag company trying to sell me a palm-tree tote bag in December. As if I’ll ever have the cash to fly away to a tropical destination in winter at this rate…
Scowling hard, I unsubscribe from the bag company before stabbing out a swift text to the man who left me high and dry— Inspection revealed major issues. Need time alone to think and do research. Talk later.
Then I switch my phone to Do Not Disturb and speed walk toward the subway.
Yes, I had planned on attending the inspection alone, but Anthony made such a big deal out of being there, of wanting to support me. It makes his complete lack of support—or so much as a follow-up text after he bailed—that much more hurtful.
Maybe his friend really is in the hospital and he’s busy being there for him , a soft, hopeful voice whispers in my head, but I know better.
Anthony was lying to me, and I have no idea why.
Maybe Sydney will have some idea, but I have five hours to kill before we meet up at the bar.
Five hours to figure out what to do about the building.
And about the man I’m crazy in love with.
Or maybe I’m just crazy. After all, gorgeous male prostitutes don’t live happily ever with small-town girls who bought them for the week. That isn’t real life. The fact that I convinced myself it might be, even for a day or two, is probably enough grounds to have me committed.
Right along with waiving that fucking inspection clause even though I knew it was a serious risk.
I head down the subway steps, tapping my credit card on the sensor with shaking hands, my rosy dreams from this morning going up in smoke all around me.