We were standing in front of a recently renovated home in Bronzeville. Back in the day, Bronzeville was known as the Black Metropolis and had the nation's most significant concentration of Black businesses. Thousands of Black Americans had escaped the oppression of the South by migrating to Chicago in search of industrial jobs. Today, it was one of the areas in the city most affected by gentrification. The difference, in this case, was that these homes were mostly bought and renovated by affluent Blacks. It didn’t really matter who purchased the homes; the effect was still the same — low and middle-income families were priced out of the homes and neighborhoods they’d lived in for generations. I was currently in negotiations with the city to buy up a few empty lots to build some mixed-income housing, but there’d been a bit of pushback from the newer, more affluent residents.

A lot of pushback, actually.

“How did you find out about this place?” I asked, pinning Juana with a disparaging look.

She rolled her eyes. “Our realtor. I simply asked her if she’d come across some renos with the kind of detailed woodwork in the Cobb & Frost mansion, and she sent me some links. I dug through them until I found one with the kinda stain I think we should use on that job. Just…come inside and keep an open mind.”

“Fine,” I said with a heavy sigh and followed her up the steps and onto the porch.

Progress on the Cobb & Frost house was humming along. Not a hitch in the plans so far. It had been almost unnervingly easy. There was already lots of interest from buyers as well, and it looked like I would make back my money threefold.

Everything was going great, but I was finding it hard to give a fuck.

This was my dream job, all the exposure I wanted for my firm, but it felt…anticlimactic. I just kept thinking, I finish this job, and then, what? I just look for the next one? And the next, and the next, until I was an old, rich man that people paid fifteen hundred dollars a plate just to be in the same room with, in hopes that they might rub elbows with me? Is this all there is?

I shook my head and focused my attention on the home that I was about to enter. It was a Romanesque townhouse, three levels, with a deep porch and two front doors. “Splitting them into apartments?” I asked as Juana fumbled with the key holder.

“Yeah, two one-bedroom, 1 1/2 baths, and a studio in the attic. Damn it. My nails are too long. I can’t get this thing open.”