Chapter 218: Ten Thousand Is Enough
"Mr. Frank, the condition of this house is terrible—mold, asbestos, lead-based paint, foundation cracks, warped floorboards, water damage, faulty wiring, and even serious issues with the roof. I strongly recommend that your family move into the house next door immediately," the inspector told Frank.
"How much would it cost to fix everything?" Frank asked.
"To be honest, I wouldn't recommend repairing it," the inspector said hesitantly.
"Why not?" Frank frowned.
"To fully renovate it, you'd need at least a hundred thousand—probably more."
In this neighborhood, you can buy an entirely new house for around forty to fifty thousand. Spending over a hundred grand on repairs just doesn't make sense. That amount could easily cover a new house, fully furnished and renovated.
"That much?" Frank couldn't help but scowl at the outrageous estimate.
"What's going on? Why are there so many people at home?" Lip asked as he returned, dropped off his backpack, and looked around in confusion.
"Dad's planning to renovate the house next door—and he wants to fix up this place too!" Debbie said excitedly.
"Renovate?" Lip looked surprised.
"Sorry for the trouble. We're still discussing the details," Frank said as he walked the inspector out.
"What are you up to now?" Fiona came rushing in, panting slightly as she questioned Frank.
Lip had called her, warning that Frank might be up to something sketchy again, prompting her to rush home.
"Nothing serious, just thinking about doing some renovations," Frank explained.
"The house next door is an easy fix—just some plumbing and electrical work. We could start tomorrow, buy some furniture, and move in within a week. But this house... it's got a lot of problems," Frank added.
The number of issues discovered in their current house had truly caught him off guard.
This house had originally belonged to Frank's Aunt, Ginger. Fiona and the others weren't even born when people first started living here.
If you think about it, the place has been lived in for nearly thirty years—never properly renovated. No major overhauls of the wiring or plumbing, just patchwork repairs here and there. Maybe some wallpaper. That's about it.
For a 30-year-old house, it was almost expected to be falling apart.
On top of the problems from the inspection, only the long-term residents like Frank knew about the smaller, everyday nuisances—like the toilet clogging once a month or frozen pipes in the winter.
"This house is really in that bad shape?" Fiona asked, looking at the inspection report, her brow furrowed.
From the list of problems, the house seemed borderline condemned—hardly suitable for living.
"I once dated a guy in construction. I'll ask him," Fiona muttered, rubbing her temples.
Her comment gave Frank a bit of an epiphany.
You can't take everything the inspector says at face value—maybe he was exaggerating, trying to scare them into spending on unnecessary repairs.
These days, renovation contractors were notorious for ripping people off.
And Frank also knew someone in the business.
He headed to the Alibi Room and found Tommy, the chubby guy who worked as a freelance contractor—he knew all the ins and outs.
"Don't worry about most of the crap they listed. Just fix the plumbing and the wiring. If you've got some extra cash, deal with the termites too," Tommy said after glancing at the report, sipping the drink Frank bought him.
A few more drinks loosened his tongue, and he spilled all the industry secrets. Spending over a hundred thousand on this old house was absolutely unnecessary.
"Don't go with those licensed companies. Hiring them is like treating royalty. Just dealing with asbestos? They'll charge you thousands—because of the health risks. But if you hire undocumented workers, you can get it done for under two hundred," Tommy said casually, taking another sip.
"If you trust me, give me both properties. I'll fix up both houses—brand new wiring, plumbing, all top-grade materials," Tommy offered.
"How much will it cost?" Frank asked.
"Ten grand," Tommy said flatly.
"Deal," Frank agreed without hesitation.
Tommy had been Frank's drinking buddy for over a decade—one of the few people he trusted not to screw him over.
Sure, ten grand sounded suspiciously low compared to the six-figure estimates, but Tommy's laborers were all undocumented immigrants who worked for cheap.
As for materials, Tommy was a general contractor—he could get everything at wholesale prices. If he were a little shady, he could even "borrow" supplies from job sites, making the cost practically zero. Renovating two modest homes wouldn't take much material anyway.
And for a neighborhood like the South Side, where both incomes and prices were low, ten grand was no small sum. Remember, a whole house like Frank's could go for just forty to fifty thousand. Tommy might even profit off that ten grand.
After a few drinks, the deal was sealed.
Frank paid a deposit, and Tommy downed the rest of his drink and left the bar—he had to find skilled workers among the undocumented immigrants.
And honestly, there were plenty of talented people among them—if you looked hard enough, you might even find a "PhD." (Granted, from a country whose degree the U.S. wouldn't recognize.)
"Kevin, how's business lately?" Frank asked, watching Kevin wipe glasses behind the bar.
Joseph had recently come back to Chicago and, as a thank-you for Kevin's kindness during his rough years, bought the Alibi Room and gifted it to Kevin—for less than $100,000.
"It's alright now. But when I first took over, it was a nightmare. I have no idea how old Stan managed to keep it afloat," Kevin replied.
"So, you're finally making money?" Frank asked.
"Well, we've stopped losing money, which is something. Joseph gave us the bar, and Veronica and I were thrilled at first—talking about having kids and all. But if the bar keeps going like this, we couldn't even afford formula after ten years," Kevin grumbled.
"No profits, huh? Kevin—how about we become partners?" Frank suddenly proposed.
"What do you mean?" Kevin looked confused.
"This bar's worth about $100,000, right? I'll give you $50,000 for a 50% stake. We'll run it together," Frank said.
"Are you serious? You're not feverish or something?" Kevin was stunned.
"I'm dead serious. Talk it over with Veronica. I mean it." Frank looked around the bar as he spoke. The more he thought about it, the more he realized—it would be a great place to launder money.
Bars, nightclubs, casinos—classic money-laundering fronts.
After reassuring Kevin that he wasn't joking, Frank left the bar and headed to Sheila's to discuss the plan.
(End of Chapter)
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