Standing outside of the crumbling brownstone, Priya checked her address twice to be sure it was the right place, and sighed hugely.
Man, what an eyesore in the middle of an otherwise charming block. The string of brownstones would've been a marvel in their former glory, but now they were obscured by a single ruin of faded red brick, weathered with neglect. She imagined all it would take was a severe storm to send the structure scattering down the block. The only thing keeping it together was the sheer stubborn will of the woman who lived inside.
Despite arriving early to the office last week, she'd found herself in a cue of the other candidates outside of Heather's office. Someone had issued a phony memo three days prior which told her the files were up for grabs at least a half hour from the actual window, so by the time Priya made it in that morning, there were all of three cases left. None of which were remotely desirable.
It was a lesser of evils option that left her less than thrilled: a tenant dispute with her landowner citing high pressure tactics looking to terminate a lease agreement between its oldest tenant – dubbed Cat Woman. Apparently she had too many cats and despite a slew of complaints, they hadn't been able to oust her.
The eighty-two-year-old tenant was fighting back.
Priya worked up the collection of slanted front steps and knocked firmly against the battered door that hadn't seen a coat of pain in at least a decade. She didn't have to wait long before the door pulled open and a fuzzy cap of white hair framing a sallow, wrinkled face peered around from behind it, lips set in a puckered line.
"Hi." She beamed, extending a hand. "I'm looking for Genie Maslow?"
Brown eyes lost behind a watery film of age slid down to her offered hand and back up at a glacial pace. "Whatever you're selling, dear, I'm not interested."
"I'm not—"
"Yeah, yeah. Save the spiel. Not. Interested." The door reverberated on the hinges with a heavy slam that had Priya jerking back in surprise. Blinking a couple times, she collected herself with a calming breath before she knocked a second time—firmly.
After a full minute of no answer she bit down on a steaming curse as she stooped to wedge her fingers in the mail slot. The brass plate clattered to the concrete stoop and from within the residence she heard a cranky voice curse.
"I'll expect you to pay for that."
"Ms. Maslow, please, my name is Priyanka Seth. I'm from Marek, Nagao and Silver. I'm here about your suit against your landlord."
Slippered feet, visible in the narrow slat of the mail slot shuffled down a dim hall and she straightened at the sound of clicking locks. This time the door pulled open in halting increments and once more that fuzzy head of white hair reappeared.
"You got a card with you?"
Priya nodded. "Absolutely." Reaching into her satchel, she found the holder that held a small stack of twenty-five cards, and offered one to her.
"Come on in," she said without so much as taking a second to examine it before it disappeared in a large front pocket. Dressed in a faded beige cardigan over a billowing dress that looked more like a nightgown, Genie widened the door, letting her pass.
"Thank you, Ms. Maslow."
"It's Mrs. But save that for the paperwork. Inside this home I'm Genie."
"Genie," Priya amended, not bothered by the informality.
She removed her shoes—as instructed—and followed Genie into the heart of the sitting room where a collection of brightly patterned couches sat, surrounded by books. Mountains of them. Piled and stacked and strewn about. Old leather volumes and new, glossy paperbacks, magazines and newspapers. All wedged and tightly packed on warped and bowing bookshelves that lined the entire length and width of the room. As many as the space could handle, before spilling out over every available surface.
The books, like the rest of the home, had seen better days. Everything inside was about as rough as the exterior of the unit. Like it'd endured a hurricane, a flood and a tornado all at the same time. Discarded fine china tea cups in an array of sizes, shapes and colours topped each pile and stack like candles on a topsy-turvy cake.
Genie whisked her hand over the cushions of a plaid printed couch that backed up against the bay window, scattering crumbs, dust and pet hair to the floor. Priya didn't see or hear any animals despite the thick file of landlord complaints testifying Genie housed her own personal shelter. After a dozen hard sweeps, Genie gestured for her to sit down as she claimed the opposite couch.
"Do you want some tea?"
From the periphery of her gaze Priya counted at least seven scattered tea cups that had begun to sprout mold as fuzzy as the hair on Genie's head. It looked like she'd shoved a fork into a socket and held on, or drove a convertible with the top down clear across country, letting the wind tease her hair into a frightening mess.
"I'm fine, thank you."
"Water, then? I'm not one for coffee, I'm afraid. Not good for the ticker."
"I'm fine. Really." Priya couldn't tell whether or not she was offended as the hard lines of Genie's face never moved. "So, reading over the file I have a vague sense of what this case is about, but I'd like you to go through the specifics, anyway. I know that might seem a little redundant and I apologize for the inconvenience."
Genie waved a hand, razzing her lips. "Dear girl, when you get to be my age there is not much you consider to be an inconvenience." Running her gnarled fingers through her tresses, Genie gathered her hair atop of her head in a lopsided knot she cinched with a lime green scrunchie, revealing silver and turquoise earrings hooked through stretched lobes.
Priya withdrew a lined pad from her satchel and took notes as Genie spoke, slotting in question marks where she needed to come back and flesh out details once she had the big picture.
The core matter was simple. Crowley Realty bought the triple row of brownstones little over two years ago. Barely a month later he went door to door, offering a buyout to the tenants. Several took the deal and moved out. The Genie Maslow declined, as did many others. Shortly thereafter, the incidents started. No water for weeks on end. No gas for significantly longer. Pests springing up in units—some had an infestation of mice, some with bed bugs. Others had their garbage bins upended in the streets resulting in hefty fines from the city.
"All harmless enough if you didn't factor in the muscled heavy who showed up every three days like clockwork to 'discuss' Crowley's offer. Ten thousand. Ridiculous." Genie muttered something indiscernible under her breath, the white knot on her head flouncing like a rabbit's tail. "Where can I live in this city with that paltry sum? It would barely cover moving costs, let alone first month's rent and not much else."
"So this is when you attempted to speak with Mr. Crowley, yes?"
"Damn straight. Tenants have a right to be seen and heard by their landlord," Genie said, crossing a leg with surprising agility. "But we were told by the security personnel, whom communicated with Crowley's office, that we would not be admitted and the police had been contacted. If we did not vacate we would be arrested for trespassing. Morale deflated rather quickly after that point."
"And how many are original tenants still reside here?"
"Out of thirty-two, I'm the only one left standing." Genie lifted a bony shoulder, the wrinkled skin crinkling like an old newspaper over the joint. "They couldn't fight any longer. The antics became so extreme. Most had extended families with frequently visiting grandkids—those were the first to toss in the towel. Understandable, given the circumstances. But me? I'm a codgy old badger. I have no one to worry about and it takes a great deal to scare me off. A great deal. I haven't come across it yet." Her milky eyes gleamed and for a fraction of a moment, Priya caught a glimpse of the plucky young woman she'd imagined Genie once to be.
"What do you mean by 'the antics became so extreme'?" she asked, tapping the end of her pen against the lined pad.
"I went to visit a friend upstate the first week of May earlier this year. I was only gone for two days and returned to find out the heat had been cranked in the unit high enough that steam poured out from under the doors of my home. The heat was so extreme, wine bottles in the cellar uncorked and spewed wine over the original hardwood floors. A glass cabinet shattered, wood shelves warped and collapsed, the plastic spray arm in the sink melted, an outlet popped out of the wall, the ceiling and walls bubbled. Worse still, I'd left the cats behind as I usually do. They didn't make it." A watery gleam filled Genie's eyes but she set her narrow shoulders, stiffened her lip.
Priya thought of the copied complaint issued by Crowley about Genie Maslow's houseful of cats and something twisted hard in her chest at the horrible sight of walking through the front door to find the devastation that lay within. May was only a few short weeks ago.
"When I contacted Crowley about the matter, a member of his employ claimed a contractor had turned up the boiler in error. A super visited the unit and turned it off after my neighbour who'd come to check on the cats complained the next day. So why was I not notified by Crowley?"
Why, indeed.
"Since that point, Crowley has done absolutely nothing to make good on this grievous wrong and I've long since given up hope that he will adhere to reason or diplomacy." Genie shook her head, hands looped over the knee of her crossed leg. "I've lived in this home for fifty-three years. The whole of my married life under this roof. I raised four children, all of whom have unfortunately passed along with my late husband—but never once have I been late or defaulted on my rent. Not once in fifty-three years. This home is all I have left and I want to enjoy what remains of my life in it."
#
Back at the office, Priya devoted the rest of her morning to carefully reviewing each of the notarized statements from other tenants whom shared their horror stories of enduring hazardous living conditions, aggressive eviction attempts, and being stripped of amenities in an effort to root them out so he could renovate and rent at much higher rates.
One in particular, who'd lived at the residence since childhood, endured several months without cooking gas from December through March of this year. After that dust and debris containing lead paint infiltrated his unit due to renovations of the surrounding brownstones and was so bad his eyes would burn.
Department of Buildings records also showed that in three separate Crowley owned buildings —the gas was turned off creating a slew of complaints all echoed by tenants who lived without amenities and withstood aggressive buyouts.
"When we purchased the buildings they were in an extreme state of disrepair," said , a manager for Crowley's Realty who defended the company's actions and denied accusations of attempts to get rid of long-time residents. "We strive to offer the best possible standards for our residents. We'd provided hot plates and electric stoves for those affected by the gas outages. Not an ideal resolution but there was nothing more we could possibly do at that time."
"Interesting, because I have statements here which contradict that claim. Furthermore, according to court and DOB records, Crowley Realty didn't file for permits to repair the gas lines until four months after the gas was shut off. Can you explain that?"
Not surprising Ori was quick to end the call and declined to answer any further questions and all of her messages left with Crowley directly went unreturned for two whole days. After yet another failed attempt of getting past his personal assistant, Priya pressed her finger to the 'End Call' button and dialed in a new number.
One she knew by heart.
"Francine, hi, this is Priyanka Seth calling." Running her tongue along her teeth, she reclined into the high back of her swivel chair, phone wedged between cheek and shoulder. "Transfer me to Alan Crichton in the Attorney General's office, please. I'd like to open an investigation against Crowley Realty."
***A/N***
This scene took a bit of time to figure out and finesse as you can imagine - a lot of research went into the logistics. And in my endless Google searches I stumbled across a real life situation where the tenants were subjected to all of the above. Blew my mind that tenants can be bullied like this and face so much push back with little to show for it.
It's classic David vs. Goliath but in reality and unlike the scriptures, David very rarely wins.
Also - I think in terms of placement in the story, this scene should fall before Isobel's arrival in New York.