Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle clinging to his door, was a harbinger of potential fortune. Arthur traced the words with a fingertip, a small smile playing on his lips. "Conversion to Condominium," it proclaimed. He immediately began calculating. His rent was obscenely low, a relic of a bygone era. He pictured the potential sale price, the freedom from this cramped existence, and the image of a vast, sun-drenched penthouse filled his thoughts. He started mentally drafting his budget for a new yacht.

He went to the meeting, not for the communal aspect, but to glean information. He sat at the back, elbows wide, absorbing every word. The real estate agent's pronouncements about market value became a symphony to his ears. He imagined the other tenants, their hopes and concerns. They were merely obstacles, small hurdles to the finish line.

The agent mentioned a "tenant's right of first refusal." Arthur leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. He would be the first. He had to be.