Philanthropy Part Two
This is the continuing story of Peter Chase, self-made billionaire, and a selfish prick most of the time. He's used to getting anything he wants in life until he encounters something much more sinister and is swept into danger and intrigue. This style of writing and topic is new to me. I've also never written a protagonist who lacks empathy and compassion. I'm already starting to make him more likeable... dammit! I hope you enjoy.
You'll need to read Part One: The Carvers, first. Go on. I'll wait.
Constructive comments always appreciated.
Part Two: Building the Case
I parked in a handicap spot and exited my Hyundai Elantra. Two chirps later, I pocketed my keys and walked up to the condo entrance. Inside, I buzzed condo 1213 and an elderly female voice I recognised as that of Alice Cartwell spoke loudly out of the speaker in the entrance.
"Yes?"
"Hi, Alice Cartwell? This is Peter Chase. We spoke on the phone?"
"Ah, yes. The poor man who was beat up in the park. I wasn't expecting you this soon."
"Yes, well. I had some free time, and I was in the neighbourhood."
"In the neighbourhood? Young man, I live outside the city."
I grinned. "True. Okay, I lied. I couldn't wait to speak to you. Is now a good time?"
She didn't release the intercom button, and I heard her exasperated sigh. "May as well. Come on up. Condo 1213..."
In a moment, the door buzzed angrily, and I pulled it open and walked toward the elevators. I looked around the condo entrance and saw the terrible state of maintenance. It looked run down like a cheap public housing complex. Garbage was piled up in a corner and the one waste basket was overflowing with fast food wrappers and what looked like Diaper Genie bags. The entrance stunk to high heaven, and I found myself holding my breath as I pressed the up button.
This place was a shithole, and it stunned me. The condo building had been one of the best in the city some years back. This was before the Carvers had lived here. When my former lawyer Amber had told me the Carvers had sued the shit out of this place, I could see they had salted the earth, too. I was angry seeing the disrepair. This was an area outside the city that boasted the highest realty costs in the city and surrounding area. From outside, the building had looked spectacular—not as nice as mine, but pretty close. Inside, it was...
I shuddered
.
The elevator dinged, and the doors pulled open, making a dry rasping sound. I was standing right at the door split and surprised a young man holding a small furry animal that looked similar to a dog, but I had never seen one so small or so shaky before. The dog suddenly was snarling and yapping and struggling to get free of the man's arms, and I resisted the urge to grab it and throw it across the entranceway.
I grimaced and stepped back to give the man and the small angry thing room to get past me. The dude didn't seem to care his little shit was an annoyance and sauntered past me toward the front doors to the condo.
I stepped inside the elevator car and immediately spied the small pile of dogshit in the corner soaking in what looked like dog piss.
"Hey!" I shouted at the back of the departing man. The elevator doors started to slide shut. "Did your fucking rat shit and piss in here?"
I caught the smirk on the guy's face as he looked back at me and then the doors closed.
"What a fucking asshole..." I grumbled and pressed floor twelve.
I held my nose and felt the elevator shudder and struggle to rise. In moments, the elevator sped up, and I watched the floor count rise. The car slowed and stopped at twelve with a loud ding and the doors opened. I stepped out and was once again hit with the smell of decay. White kitchen garbage bags were piled up next to the waste shoot leaking fluids into the carpet.
"Jesus Fucking Christ," I muttered and saw the sign indicating condo 1213 was to my left. I quickly turned left and strode down the corridor. I tested the air, and the smell got less abrasive, and at the end of the corridor I spotted door 1213. I gave it a quick knock and heard a muffled voice inside.
I waited and heard someone on the other side of the door struggling with the security chain. I heard a rasp, a soft click, and then the door opened to reveal an elderly grey-haired lady, hunched over with some sort of back problem. She had to strain to look up at me and adjusted her shawl.
She sized me up quickly and then stood back and beckoned for me to enter. "Well, don't just stand there, get in here before the stink follows you..."
I smiled at her and moved past her and turned to watch her close her door. She twisted the deadlock and then reached up with a trembling hand to put the security chain back on. I suppose I could have helped her, but it didn't seem prudent. I could hear her breathing with effort, but she finally slid the chain on and then shuffled to turn around. She started when she found me still standing there.
"Jesus!" she squawked. "What are you doing standing there? Get inside. Take your shoes off. Hang your jacket in the closet."
With surprising speed, she moved past me and disappeared around the corner.
"I suppose you want coffee?"
I shucked my loafers and started to remove my black Crombie overcoat. I opened the closet and noted it only contained two jackets for women. A summer one and a poor winter one. I hung up the jacket, closed the closet door, and adjusted my sweater before retracing the steps Alice had taken.
As soon as I turned the corner, I could see her condo. It was decorated exactly like you would expect an elderly lady to decorate her living space. Doilies were everywhere. The couch had an Afghan blanket thrown over it. Flowerpots and plants covered every place you looked. A small flat-screen TV was mounted over the gas fireplace. I noticed the fireplace wasn't on and even with my sweater on I felt the chill in the air.
I sniffed the air but couldn't smell any cat shit, but I knew they had to be here somewhere. This was a cat paradise. I hated fucking cats. I looked for signs of cats but found nothing.
The condo layout was not too bad. I looked around quickly and could see the severe state of disrepair. The walls needed repainting and the hardware floors looked abused. The windows barely let any light in from outside. I had a flash of memory of my parents' place shortly before they passed away. They couldn't keep up with the cleaning of their place with their age. Poor eyesight led to other issues like hygiene. Alice was living in squalor.
"Um, nice place you have here?" I said a bit loudly, sure she was probably deaf, too.
"You don't have to yell!" she yelled back, and I followed her voice into the kitchen.
She was adding boiling water from a kettle to two mugs. I spied the instant coffee container and repressed another shudder.
She looked up at me as I enter and put the kettle down. "Cream? Sugar?"
"Yes, please."
She pointed at the fridge. "In there."
I opened the fridge and was shocked to see it barely had anything in it. Half a loaf of bread, an old jar of yellowed mayonnaise, a small tub of margarine, some other condiment bottles and a jar of pickles. There was a milk container with a bag of milk and a small container of cream. I picked up the cream and casually looked at the best before date. Now, best before dates don't mean bad after, but when I saw the date had expired a month ago, I took the container of cream and held it up.
"Your garbage?"
She frowned at me and pointed at the cupboard below the sink.
I opened the cupboard, spotted the garbage, and tossed the cream in.
"What did you do that for?" she raged and moved toward the garbage.
I closed the door and blocked her. "It went bad a month ago, Alice."
She looked confused but stopped and looked up at me. "A month ago?"
"Yeah. Just sugar will be fine."
She looked like she wanted to argue, but then I saw her face fall and she turned back to the mugs. With a shaking hand, she opened a sugar jar and spooned sugar into her cup. She looked at me and I held up two fingers, then changed my mind and held up one. She nodded and spooned in a small amount of sugar.
I looked around her kitchen and identified all her kitchen stuff was from that large box store chain. She bought cheap. She had no money. That was clear.
I bit my tongue when my first instinct was to say something snarky. I needed information from this lonely old woman, so I smiled at her when she handed me a lukewarm cup of instant coffee. I took a sip and hid the grimace.
