I take the envelopes from the city code department in her stack without asking, rifle through the top letters, and start reading. She’s opened them already.
They’re just as petty as I thought.
Inspection inquiries. Pages and pages of them—all going back years, like someone just decided to audit Pawsome Hearts under a microscope and slap us for every loose shoelace.
This can’t be coincidence.
I flick through the stack, faster and faster, grabbing more envelopes.So many pages.
“Holy crap, where does it end?” I whisper. “This is insane!”
She rubs her eyes tiredly. “Well, the fines don’t amount to much. Some of them are under twenty dollars for old light bulbs and such. The inspection is a bigger issue. We need to get the boarding center back in shape to pass a modern code inspection.”
My heart sinks. That’s no easy task.
“Whenwasit last inspected?” I swallow.
“Well over ten years ago. I have the details in this mess, somewhere.”
Ouch.
She’s been lucky to keep the exterior painted and the inside squeaky clean. She doesn’t need to tell me how dire a full inspection could be. I already know.
Sure, it’s perfectly safe for our four-legged guests, but there are always little things that add up when a building’s thirty or forty years outdated.
Another issue Dr. Ezzie never had the time or money to fix, and soon it’ll be mine.
But I’m not ready for a total gut and overhaul. Not now.
There’s no way this is a coincidence.
I’m not stupid.
Someone has been digging, doing everything they can to chuck a firecracker down our pipes.
“I don’t believe it.” My fingers tighten on the letters, crinkling them. “Doc, this is bullshit.”
“The worst timing,” she agrees too calmly. “Regrettably, it means someone may have to put up additional capital before we can progress.”
There it is.
The sucker punch I was waiting for.
Normally, before a sale, an inspection might be requested by the buyer, but Dr. Ezzie and I discussed it, and I basically waived my right.I’m intimately familiar with this place and its quirks like the back of my puppy-chewed hand.
I choke back bile, my nerves knotting.
“Okay, righto,” I say. “I mean, I’ll see what I can do.”
“And the fines.”
“And the fines,” I echo through clenched teeth. The room feels like it’s shrinking down to shoebox size.
Outside, the gorgeous evening sunshine paints the trees a cheerful orange. A couple dogs bark in the enclosure with Keith, getting their last zoomies out before dinner as he throws rubber balls for them.
The phone rings, but neither of us move.
Dr. Ezzie taps the voicemail button a minute later, and a demon talks through the speaker.
