Ep. 3: Fine Print and Fire Escapes
The lease was 37 pages long, which felt personal.
They were all crammed around the dining table, except Mateo, who was pacing, and Alex, who was upside down on the couch like gravity might offer insight.
“I swear this wasn’t here before,” Paige said, flipping pages with surgical precision. “This addendum—‘Behavioral Compliance Clause.’ That is not standard.”
Jonah rubbed his temples. “It says the landlord can impose ‘reasonable conduct guidelines’ to preserve neighborhood harmony.”
“Neighborhood harmony is straight code for ‘don’t be loud and queer,’” Eli said.
Nora stabbed a highlighted paragraph. “And this part about ‘occupancy reassessment’ — does that mean he can kick people out individually?”
“Yes,” Paige said. “With notice.”
Alex sat upright. “Wait. Individually?”
Mateo stopped pacing. “So he could decide, say, that one of us is a problem.”
Everyone looked at Mateo.
“What?” he said. “I host one drag karaoke night, and suddenly I’m the threat?”
“You host it weekly,” Jonah said.
Their phones buzzed almost in unison.
Another text. Same unknown number.
“Just a reminder: first inspection is Friday. Please ensure common areas are presentable.”
“It’s Tuesday,” Eli said. “That’s not legal notice.”
Grant had thought of that.
Alex groaned. “I can feel my chakras closing.”
The inspection happened exactly at 9 a.m. Friday. Grant arrived with a clipboard and a woman in a blazer who did not smile once. She took photos. Of everything.
The bookshelf. The art. The Pride flag draped over the banister.
Grant paused in front of it. “This,” he said gently, “might be better kept in private spaces.”
Nora stepped forward. “Touch that and lose the hand.”
Grant smiled. “Duly noted.”
Upstairs, the tension escalated. The inspector measured bedrooms. Counted toothbrushes. Opened closets.
When she reached Eli’s room, she frowned. “Two dressers?”
“I have layers,” Eli said.
She wrote something down.
In Mateo and Jonah’s room, she lingered. “Only one bed?”
Mateo wrapped an arm around Jonah. “Monogamy. Try it.”
Grant chuckled. “That won’t be an issue—unless, of course, guests become habitual.”
“Define habitual,” Jonah snapped.
Grant closed the portfolio. “Three nights a week.”
Alex’s room was last. The incense. The crystals. The altar.
Grant tilted his head. “Is this religious?”
Alex met his gaze. “Yes.”
Grant nodded. “Good. Religious expression is protected.”
Alex exhaled in relief.
Then Grant pointed to the fire escape outside Alex’s window. “Though blocking emergency access with wind chimes is not.”
“They’re protective,” Alex said weakly.
Grant checked his watch. “I’ll be sending notices by Monday.”
After they left, the house felt smaller.
“They’re going to pick us off,” Mateo said. “One by one.”
Paige stood up. “Then we don’t let them.”
“How?” Eli asked.
Nora smiled grimly. “We document everything.”
Jonah’s laptop chimed.
“Guys,” he said quietly. “You need to see this.”
He turned the screen around.
Grant Whitaker. News article. Five years ago.
“Developer Sued for Displacement of Tenants in Portland Arts District.”
Settlement. No admission of wrongdoing.
Below it, a photo.
Grant, smiling.
Eli swallowed. “He’s done this before.”
Outside, the wind rattled the fire escape.
And something heavy thumped against the side of the house.
