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“No. I haven’t had a chance to look at my mail yet. What is it?”
She shoves the paper at me. “Read it for yourself!”
I don’t even need to look back to know that Connor’s standing behind me, peering down over my shoulder at the sheet of paper in my hand.
Dear Residents,
This letter is to inform you that I’ve sold this building to a property investment firm. Your lease will be terminated 30 days from the date of this letter. Please make other living arrangements before then and be sure you have vacated your apartment by that date. Any personal belongings left behind after that date will be promptly disposed of.
Sincerely,
Mr. Leroy Brown, Property Management
“Can he do that to us?” she shrieks. “Can he sell our building and kick us out?”
I wince. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. I’m completely taken aback. I’m in shock.
He sold our building?
“Don’t worry,” I say, hoping to reassure her. “I’ll call Mr. Brown and find out what’s going on. I’m sure there’s something we can do.”
Ms. Talisman sighs heavily. “I’ve lived in this building for sixty years, and I’m not about to move out now. I’ll die here in my own bed, just like my dear husband Hubert did twenty years ago.”
She takes the letter from me and heads back down the hallway to her own apartment, grumbling to herself all the way.
I grab my phone and call our landlord. When he answers, I put the call on speaker so Connor can hear. “Mr. Brown, hello. This is Kennedy Takahashi. I live in the 210 Normandy Lane building. I’m calling about your notice. Please, you can’t sell our building. Some of these tenants have lived here most of their lives. Where will they go?”
“I’m sorry, Kennedy,” the man says. His voice is gruff, with a heavy Bronx accent. “The sale’s a done deal. I advise you to start looking for a new place to live.”
“Can I talk to the new owner? Maybe he’ll honor our current leases.”
“Sorry, no. The investment company that purchased the building plans to tear it down and build a pharmacy.”
“A pharmacy? You can’t be serious. We already have two pharmacies in the neighborhood.”
“I’m sorry, young lady, but it’s out of my hands.”
When he ends the call, my stomach sinks.
“I suppose it’s a bit too early for a drink,” Connor says as he rubs my back.
He watches me sift through the small stack of mail on my kitchen table. I find the letter from the building manager and open it.
Connor holds his hand out, and after I’ve reread the letter, I hand it to him. “Can he do this to us?” I ask. “I’m not a lawyer.”
I study his face as he reads the letter. “I’m not familiar with the applicable American laws.”
“I’ve only lived here since I returned to New York,” I say. “But many of the residents in this building have lived here for decades. This building is their home. They have nowhere else to go, and probably there’s little else in the city they can afford.”
He frowns as he folds the letter and slips it back into its envelope. Then he cups the back of my neck. “Sweetheart, you needn’t worry about a thing.”
“That’s easy for you to say. Your home isn’t about to be taken from you.”
He catches my hand. “You’re really upset.”
“Of course I am. This apartment may not seem like much to you, but it’s everything to me. And to many of the others in this building. They can’t just tear it down.”
He smiles. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t let them. You have my word on it. Now, about the matter at hand.”
