Gemotions

The inspector’s report, with its meticulous descriptions of the structural damage, felt like a personal insult. Mark crumpled the papers in his hand, the edges tearing under his crushing grip. He had been so proud of his purchase. The elegant Victorian, a testament to his success. Now, he was the laughingstock, a fool. The previous owner, a con artist, had stripped the house bare, leaving behind a crumbling façade, a legacy of deceit, and a mountain of debt.

He slammed his fist against the ornate plaster wall, a fissure spider-webbing across the surface. The house was a fraud, and so, apparently, was he. The beautiful house was just a rotten shell.