Chapter 78: The Apartment Complex
After Steven was done eating, he left his apartment and took the elevator down to the underground garage.
He walked to the Porsche, opened the door and got in. He dropped the document folder he was holding in his hand on the passenger seat.
He started the engine and entered the DPS address into the navigation, pulling out of the garage and onto the morning street, heading for the DPS office.
The navigation was showing a twenty-three minute drive in the current traffic. He settled into the seat and stepped on the gas a bit, let the car cruise down the road.
He had taken the Aston Martin out every day since he bought it and the muscle memory was already there. But the Porsche was different in every measurable way and he was aware of the difference with every input.
He wasn’t forgetting the Aston Martin. He hadn’t even considered that. The two cars existed in separate categories in his mind and he had no desire to replace one with the other.
He drove leisurely, letting the car move through the morning traffic at its own pace, reading its responses to small inputs.
By the time the navigation announced the final turn, he had a clearer picture of what the car was and what it was going to require from him.
He pulled into the DPS parking lot twenty-six minutes after leaving the garage and found a space without difficulty.
He cut the engine, collected the MSF completion certificate from the document folder on the passenger seat, and walked to the entrance.
***
The DPS office was busy for a Monday morning. A queue had already formed at the service counter and Steven took a number from the dispenser near the entrance and found a seat along the wall.
He waited twenty minutes before his number was called.
He walked to the counter and the clerk looked up with the practiced neutral expression of someone who processed hundreds of transactions a day and had long since stopped reading anything into any of them.
"Good morning," Steven said. "I’m here to add a Class M endorsement to my licence. I have the MSF completion certificate."
"Driver’s licence and the certificate," the clerk said.
Steven produced both. The clerk took them, examined the certificate, and typed something into her system.
"When did you complete the course?"
"Saturday," Steven said.
She nodded and continued typing. There was a brief pause while the system processed something on her end.
"I’ll need you to confirm your current address," she said.
He gave her his address and she typed it in, compared it against the record, and nodded.
"There’s an endorsement fee of twenty-five dollars," she said.
Steven produced his debit card without comment. Government offices didn’t take credit, which he had confirmed that morning before leaving. He had considered bringing the Reserve Card out of habit and caught himself before he made it awkward.
She processed the fee and handed him his debit card back.
[You spent $25. A 3x rebate was triggered.]
[You received $75. The money has been transferred to your account.]
The lady handed the card back and turned to the printer behind her. A moment later she returned with a temporary licence document.
"Your updated licence will arrive by mail within seven to ten business days," she said. "This document serves as your valid Class M endorsement in the interim. You’re legal to operate a motorcycle on public roads as of today."
"Thank you," Steven said.
He folded the document carefully and slid it into his pocket.
He walked back through the waiting area and out into the morning air.
He walked back to the Porsche, with a satisfied smile on his face. He had gotten the endorsement certificate, meaning that there was nothing holding him back from taking the Superleggera V4 out on a ride when he gets back.
Steven started the car and started driving to the apartment complex.
The property was in Upper Kirby, on Buffalo Speedway. The navigation showed eighteen minutes from the DPS office in light midday traffic.
Steven pulled out of the parking lot and headed south.
He had looked at the address in the documents that morning but hadn’t gone beyond the location. The document had described it as a residential apartment complex with an estimated annual revenue exceeding one million dollars, but the details of the property itself.
The document has also given him the size of the property, the number of units and the condition, but there was no attached picture to give him visual details of the property.
Steven drove without rushing, following the navigation through the familiar stretches of the city, and turned onto Buffalo Speedway as the system announced the final approach.
The building came into view on the left side of the road before the navigation confirmed the arrival.
He slowed the car and looked at it through the windscreen.
It was larger than he had imagined it would be and visually larger than what the document has stated.
The property was a well-maintained residential block, four storeys, with a clean facade and mature trees lining the pavement in front of it.
The surrounding properties were in good condition and the street had the quiet, established feeling of a neighbourhood that had been well-regarded for a long time.
He pulled into the small parking area at the front and cut the engine.
He stepped out and stood beside the car, looking up at the building properly for the first time.
The grounds were tidy. The entrance was well-maintained. And nothing about the exterior suggested neglect. Whatever it had been before the system transferred it to him, it had been looked after.
He walked slowly along the front of the building, taking in the length of it. He reached the far end, turned, and walked back toward the entrance.
Steven stood in front of the building for another minute, looking up at it. Thirty-two units. Annual revenue exceeding a million dollars. His, as of this morning, through no transaction he had initiated or negotiated.
He turned and walked back to the Porsche.
He got in, started the engine, and sat for a moment before pulling out.
He pulled out of the parking area and headed back toward River Oaks.
The drive back was smooth and unhurried.
The building had looked exactly as the documents had described it, and seeing it in person had made it feel real in a way that reading words on paper hadn’t.
A thirty-two units property in a well-maintained block in Upper Kirby. It was an asset that had arrived without him asking for it and was now his responsibility to manage properly.
He pulled into the underground garage twenty minutes later, parked beside the Aston Martin, and took the elevator up.
He stepped into the apartment, set his keys and card on the side table, and called Hargreaves before he had even sat down.
"Mr. Craig," Hargreaves said. "Good afternoon."
"Good afternoon, Hargreaves. I need a property management company arranged for a residential complex I’ve recently acquired. Thirty-two units in Upper Kirby, Buffalo Speedway. The property is in good condition and currently occupied. I need someone reliable to handle the day-to-day operations — tenant relations, maintenance, rent collection, the full scope."
"Of course," Hargreaves said. "Do you have any existing relationship with a property management firm, or would you like us to make an introduction?"
"Make the introduction," Steven said. "I want someone who knows the Upper Kirby market and has a track record with occupied residential blocks. I don’t want to inherit problems because the management company isn’t the right fit for the asset."
"Understood. We work with two firms that would be appropriate for what you’re describing. Both have strong track records in that corridor and handle occupied residential properties regularly. I’d suggest we arrange introductory calls with both so you can make the decision yourself rather than us making it for you."
"That works," Steven said. "How quickly can that be arranged?"
"I can have both contacted today and schedule the calls for tomorrow if that suits you."
"Tomorrow works," Steven said. "Morning if possible."
"Is the property held under Craig Holdings or in your personal name?" Hargreaves asked.
Steven remembered that in the property’s document, he saw that the property was listed under the management of Halcyon Trust and Fiduciary.
The document also stated that the property also can’t be transferred to another name, meaning it can’t be sold and it can’t be under another holding.
"Neither," he said. "It came through Halcyon Trust and Fiduciary."
The brief silence on Hargreaves’ end was the same one that had preceded every mention of that name.
"Understood," he said, and his tone had shifted slightly as Halcyon entered the conversation. "In that case the property is held by the trust on your behalf as beneficiary. The management company will be contracting with the trust rather than with you directly. That’s a straightforward arrangement but it does mean the documentation will need to reflect the correct trustee details."
"Will that create any complications with the management company?" Steven asked.
"None that would affect the day-to-day operation," Hargreaves said. "Reputable firms handle trust-held properties regularly. It simply means the paperwork is structured correctly from the start. I’ll make sure both firms we’re introducing you to are briefed on the ownership structure before the calls tomorrow so there are no surprises."
"Good," Steven said. "That’s everything for now."
"I’ll have confirmations sent through for the morning calls before the end of today," Hargreaves said. "Is there anything else?"
"Nothing else," Steven said. "Thank you, Hargreaves."
"Of course, Mr. Craig."
The call ended.
Steven set the phone on the side table and sat down on the sofa.
Everything that needed to be set in motion was in motion. The management company introductions were scheduled. And he had handled it in one phone call.
He stood up from the sofa, walked to the bedroom, and opened the wardrobe. The riding gear was on the rail where he had left it, the helmet on the shelf above it.
He had one more thing to do today. And that was taking the superbike out on its first ride.
Steven started putting on his gear. He made sure that everything was in place. And after he was done, picked up the helmet and left his bedroom.
He took his phone and cards as he crossed the room, reached the door, opened it and stepped out of his apartment.