We followed the old man up a staircase, the uneven stone steps chipped and cracked in several places.
The place was so run-down that even an abandoned addicts' hangout would've looked more presentable.
May walked beside me, maintaining her silence, but I could still see her sweating from the lack of AC units and proper ventilation.
From the outside, the building looked spacious and promising—probably once a profitable business. But now, every corner told a story of neglect and mismanagement.
When we reached the second floor, many doors lined the hallway like a row of hotel rooms, each one identical and nondescript.
The old man stopped near the end of the hall and gestured toward a door.
"That's where the owner office is. Please wait inside."
The room was modest—bare walls, one window with faded blinds, and a desk stacked with disorganized paperwork.
