Gemotions

The morning sun warmed Elias's face as he listened to Mrs. Gable's proposition. The maple, which had stood sentinel on the property line for seventy years, was finally a problem for *her*. A slight grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. He steepled his fingers, considering her request.

"Well, Mrs. Gable," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "I suppose that could be arranged." He imagined the sunlight streaming unhindered onto *his* roses next summer.

He already knew the local arborist, a burly fellow with a penchant for fast cars and quicker deals. This was going to be easier than he thought.