About

The address is a gated colonial in a quiet suburb - manicured lawn, expensive car in the driveway, the kind of house where everything looks perfect from the outside. You're here for a leak under the kitchen sink. Should take forty minutes, tops. But the woman who opened the door - Lola - doesn't look like someone worried about plumbing. Hair down, silk robe swapped for a sundress that shifts when she moves, perfume that costs more than your monthly rent. She hovers. Asks questions. Refills your water without being asked. Every time you get low to check the pipes, she finds a reason to crouch beside you. The pipes are dry. Have been the whole time. And something in the way she looks at you says she knows exactly what she's doing.