Chapter 6: Checkmate, Mr. Gable

Richard Gable's corner office on the thirty-second floor of the Meridian Tower offered a panoramic view of the city below—a constant reminder of his position in the world's hierarchy. From this height, people looked like ants, cars like toys, and problems like temporary inconveniences that money could solve.

His mood on Monday morning, however, was anything but elevated.

"What the hell happened on Saturday?" he barked into his phone, not bothering with pleasantries when Margaret Chen answered.

Margaret's voice carried the exhaustion of someone who'd spent the weekend reconsidering her career choices. "Mr. Gable, it was... unprecedented. I've never experienced anything quite like it."

"I don't want your editorial commentary. I want numbers. How many serious inquiries?"

There was a pause that lasted just long enough to make Richard's jaw clench. "We had one viable offer."

"One?" Richard's voice rose to a pitch that sent his assistant scurrying past his office door. "One offer on a property in one of the most desirable neighborhoods in the city?"

"The circumstances were... unusual."

Richard had already heard about the "circumstances" through social media posts that had somehow found their way to his LinkedIn feed. Pictures of his mother's house surrounded by motorcycles, food trucks, and what appeared to be a small circus. The hashtag #MemorialForEleanor had been trending locally, with dozens of comments about "community spirit" and "honoring Mrs. Gable's legacy."

It made him sick.

"What's the offer?"

"Two hundred thousand. Cash."

The number hit Richard like cold water. Two hundred thousand—exactly what his mother had promised those tenants. The coincidence was too perfect, too convenient. Someone was playing games with him.

"Who made the offer?"

"A Mr. Sullivan. He said he was pre-approved for financing but preferred to pay cash to expedite the process."

Richard's blood pressure spiked. The goddamn tenants had orchestrated Saturday's chaos themselves. They'd somehow sabotaged his open house, scared away legitimate buyers, then swooped in with their pathetic offer like vultures picking over a carcass.

"Reject it."

"Sir?"

"You heard me. Reject the offer. I want another open house scheduled for next weekend."

"Mr. Gable, with respect, I'm not sure that's advisable. The neighborhood seems to have... ongoing community activities. And frankly, the property has some significant presentation challenges that need to be addressed before—"

"I don't pay you to think, Margaret. I pay you to sell houses. Schedule another showing."

Richard ended the call and leaned back in his leather chair, fingers steepled as he stared out at the city. Someone thought they could outmaneuver him—Richard Gable, who'd turned his inheritance into a real estate empire worth fifty million dollars. Someone thought they could use community theater and amateur hour intimidation tactics to force his hand.

They were about to learn how wrong they were.

His intercom buzzed. "Mr. Gable? Your attorney is on line two."

"Put him through."

Richard had retained the services of Hartwell, Blackstone & Associates not because they were the most ethical law firm in the city, but because they were the most effective. When you needed problems to disappear quickly and quietly, you called Hartwell.

"Richard, I've been reviewing the Maple Street situation. Interesting development."

"What kind of development?"

"Well, it seems your tenants have been living in the property for eight years without a formal lease renewal. Technically, they're month-to-month at this point."

Richard's smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "Meaning?"

"Meaning you can evict them with thirty days' notice. No need to wait for them to buy or not buy. Clear them out, clean up whatever mess they've made, and put it back on the market."

It was perfect. Brutally efficient and completely legal. Richard could have the Sullivan family out of his property within a month, giving him time to address whatever sabotage they'd committed and stage a proper sale to buyers who could appreciate the property's true value.

"Draw up the papers."

"Already started. I'll have the eviction notice ready by end of business today."

As Richard hung up, his phone immediately rang again. Margaret Chen's number flashed on the screen.

"What now?"

"Mr. Gable, I need to inform you that we've received another offer on the property."

Richard's good mood evaporated. "From who?"

"A Mr. Davidson. He's offering two hundred thirty thousand, also cash, closing within two weeks."

Richard blinked. Thirty thousand over the Sullivan offer—exactly the kind of competitive bidding he'd expected from the beginning. Finally, someone who understood the property's actual value.

"Tell me about this Davidson."

"He says he's relocating for work, needs to close quickly. He toured the property on Saturday and was impressed by the... community engagement he witnessed."

Something about Margaret's tone set off alarm bells in Richard's head. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Well, sir, I did some research on Mr. Davidson. He's legitimate—good credit, verified funds. But he mentioned that he was particularly drawn to the 'authentic neighborhood character' and the 'active community involvement.' He seemed to think Saturday's events were typical for the area."

Richard's hands tightened on the phone. This Davidson character had witnessed Saturday's circus and interpreted it as a selling point rather than a deterrent. Either the man was insane, or...

"I want to meet with him. Today."

"Sir, that's highly unusual. Buyers typically prefer to work through their agents—"

"I don't care what's typical. Set up a meeting."

Two hours later, Richard sat in the conference room of his office building, waiting for this mysterious Mr. Davidson to arrive. When the man walked through the door, Richard's first thought was that he looked exactly like someone who would be impressed by motorcycle gangs and garage bands.

Davidson was maybe forty-five, wearing jeans and a polo shirt that had seen better days. His handshake was firm, his smile genuine, and his eyes held the kind of quiet confidence that Richard associated with people who worked with their hands for a living.

"Mr. Gable, pleasure to meet you. I'm sorry for your loss. Your mother sounds like she was a wonderful woman."

The casual reference to his mother immediately put Richard on edge. "Thank you. I understand you're interested in the Maple Street property."

"Very interested. It's exactly what I'm looking for."

"Even after witnessing Saturday's... community event?"

Davidson's face lit up. "Oh, that was fantastic! I haven't seen neighborhood spirit like that in years. The charity ride, the bake sale, the kids doing their car wash—it reminded me of the small town where I grew up. That kind of community engagement is exactly what I want for my family."

Richard studied the man's face for any sign of deception. Either Davidson was an exceptional actor, or he was genuinely enthusiastic about moving into what Richard considered a neighborhood of lunatics.

"The asking price is two hundred eighty thousand."

"I understand. My offer is two hundred thirty thousand, cash, as-is condition. I can close within two weeks."

It was still fifty thousand below asking, but it was thirty thousand more than the Sullivans could offer. More importantly, it would allow Richard to rid himself of both the property and the troublesome tenants in one clean transaction.

"I'll consider your offer, Mr. Davidson. But I should warn you—there are other interested parties."

"The Sullivans?" Davidson's expression didn't change. "Yeah, I heard they were trying to buy it. Nice family. Mrs. Gable always spoke highly of them when I'd see her at the hardware store."

Another reference to his mother. Another sign that this man was somehow connected to the web of relationships that had caused Saturday's chaos. Richard's suspicion deepened, but his business instincts overrode his paranoia. Thirty thousand dollars was thirty thousand dollars.

"I'll have my agent contact you with our decision by end of business today."

After Davidson left, Richard sat alone in his conference room, staring out at the city and feeling like he was missing something important. The whole situation felt orchestrated, from Saturday's sabotage to Davidson's perfectly timed offer. But the money was real, the buyer was legitimate, and the deal would close quickly.

His phone buzzed with a text from his attorney: "Eviction papers ready for signature."

Richard smiled. He could have his cake and eat it too. Accept Davidson's offer, evict the Sullivans immediately, and close the book on this entire irritating chapter of his life.

At 4:47 PM, Richard called Margaret Chen with his decision.

"Accept Davidson's offer. I want the paperwork signed by tomorrow."

"Excellent, sir. I'll contact both parties immediately."

"Both parties?"

"Well, I'll need to formally reject the Sullivan offer, of course."

Richard's smile widened. "Yes. Make sure they understand the offer was insufficient and that the property has been sold to a more qualified buyer."

As he hung up, Richard felt the satisfaction of a chess master delivering checkmate. The Sullivans had played their little games, mobilized their pathetic community army, and ultimately accomplished nothing. In two weeks, they'd be out of his property, and he'd have his money from a buyer who actually appreciated the neighborhood's "character."

He was already reaching for the eviction papers when his phone rang again.

"Mr. Gable?" Margaret's voice was strained. "We have a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"I just spoke with Mr. Davidson. He's withdrawing his offer."

Richard's pen froze halfway to the signature line. "What?"

"He said he'd just learned that the current tenants were being evicted, and he couldn't in good conscience displace a family with five children. He wanted me to tell you that he was disappointed by your lack of 'community spirit.'"

The words hit Richard like a physical blow. Davidson had been working with the Sullivans all along. The whole thing—the offer, the meeting, the earnest discussion about neighborhood character—had been an elaborate setup.

"Are you telling me," Richard said, his voice dangerously quiet, "that we have no offers on this property?"

"Actually, sir, the Sullivan offer is still valid. They haven't withdrawn it."

Richard stared at the eviction papers on his desk, then at his phone, then out at the city where somewhere, somehow, a bartender named Alex Vance was probably laughing at his expense.

Two hundred thousand dollars. His mother's promise. The exact amount she'd committed to eight years ago, now looking like the only way out of a situation that had spiraled completely beyond his control.

"Sir? What would you like me to tell the Sullivans?"

Richard closed his eyes and saw his mother's face—disappointed, ashamed of what her son had become. When he opened them again, the eviction papers looked like what they were: a weapon pointed at innocent children.

"Tell them," he said quietly, "that we accept their offer."

The words tasted like defeat, but for the first time in months, Richard Gable felt like his mother might not be completely ashamed of him.

He tore up the eviction papers and called it a victory.