Hefty Tenants

Chapter 1

Hank Mercer had always been a man of contradictions. On the surface, he was the picture of respectability—a sharp-dressed accountant with a meticulous work ethic, deep brown eyes that conveyed an air of quiet authority, and a pale complexion that hinted at a life lived in fluorescent offices. Yet beneath that polished exterior lurked a mind far darker and more calculating than anyone could imagine.

For nearly fifteen years, Hank had worked as a trusted accountant for several wealthy landlords. He handled their ledgers with precision, investing their money wisely, turning their stagnant fortunes into gold mines. But as the years dragged on, Hank found himself bitter and resentful. He wasn’t content to simply crunch numbers while these men, many of whom lacked his intellect, reaped the rewards. He wanted more—more power, more control, and, most of all, more money.

It was during those long nights in the office, poring over financial records, that Hank began to form his plan. He’d seen the numbers, knew how to spot trends, and understood how to play the real estate game better than anyone. All he needed was enough capital to strike out on his own. So, while he continued to manage the wealth of others, he siphoned off pieces of their knowledge and strategies, quietly building his own investments on the side.

But money wasn’t his only ambition. Hank had another obsession, one that he could never fully explain, even to himself. He was drawn, almost inexplicably, to fat men. There was something about their size—the way their bodies filled a space, the softness, the confidence (or lack thereof)—that fascinated him. He could trace this peculiar attraction back to his teenage years, but it had only grown more intense with time. While others might dismiss it as a harmless preference, for Hank, it bordered on compulsion.

Hank didn’t just admire fat men; he wanted to surround himself with them. He wanted to control their environment, to create a space where they could thrive—or perhaps, in his more wicked moments, where they could indulge themselves to excess. It wasn’t just desire; it was power. The thought of building a world tailored to his tastes, all under the guise of being a landlord, was intoxicating.

When Hank finally saved enough money to purchase his first property, he knew exactly what he was looking for. The five-story building on 12th Street was old and unassuming, the kind of place that didn’t attract much attention. But it was perfect. With a little work, it could become his playground, a space where he could handpick tenants who fit his vision.

Hank’s greed wasn’t just financial; it was psychological. He wanted control—over his tenants, their habits, their lives. He wanted to see his vision come to life, to walk through the halls of his building and feel the satisfaction of knowing that every tenant was there because he had chosen them. He wasn’t just building wealth; he was building a world in his image.

Yet, despite his cold, calculating nature, there was a charisma to Hank that drew people in. His rugged looks and calm demeanor gave him the appearance of someone trustworthy, someone who had your best interests at heart. It was this charm that made him so dangerous. Hank could smile and nod, feigning kindness, all while carefully manipulating the pieces on his chessboard.

Hank lit a cigarette as he leaned against the railing of the fourth-floor balcony, surveying the city below. The air was damp and heavy, a mixture of impending rain and the greasy aroma of fried food wafting up from the bustling restaurants that lined the street. His deep brown eyes scanned the neighborhood with satisfaction. It was a gamble, buying this building—one that could’ve ruined him if it went south. But Hank had a plan.

The building, a five-story relic from the 1920s, still held its original charm. The bricks were weathered but strong, the windows framed with ornate molding that had managed to survive decades of wear. It was unassuming, almost boring to a passerby. But Hank knew it was anything but.

Hank wasn’t like most landlords. He didn’t care about credit scores or spotless tenant histories. What mattered to Hank was size—literally. His building wasn’t just any rental property; it was a personal project, an indulgence of his peculiar tastes. And now, the first phase of his plan was complete.

The basement apartment had gone to Ben Smith. Hank had found him one evening at the greasy burger joint down the street, slouched in a booth with a towering tray of food. Ben was a soft-looking kid, no more than 20, with a doughy face and fingers perpetually stained with fry grease. Hank struck up a conversation, feigning casual interest.

“So, what do you do for a living?” Hank asked, taking a slow drag from his cigarette.

“Fast food,” Ben said between bites of a triple cheeseburger. “Pays the bills. Keeps me fed.”

Hank smirked. It didn’t take long to piece together Ben’s life. A dead-end job, no ambition, and an obvious love for junk food. Perfect. By the end of the week, Ben had signed the lease, lured by a suspiciously generous discount.

On the first floor, Hank found Jack Harper, a former college athlete. Jack was broad-shouldered but softer around the edges, the kind of guy who peaked in college and now struggled with the realities of an office job. His remote IT gig had him sitting at a desk all day, snacking mindlessly while coding.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Hank asked during the showing.

“No, just moved to the city for the job,” Jack replied, his voice tinged with exhaustion.

“Well, this building’s got everything you need,” Hank said smoothly. “Quiet neighbors, fast food joints on every corner. Trust me, you’ll love it here.”

Jack hesitated, but the discount on rent sealed the deal.

The second floor was Hank’s crowning achievement. Mark Bell and Eli Taro were a couple unlike any he’d ever met. Mark was a short, round man with a warm smile and a belly that strained against his T-shirt. Eli, taller and curvier, had a presence that filled the room—not just physically, but with an energy that made Hank’s pulse quicken.

“This place is perfect,” Eli declared as they stepped into the apartment. “And the smell from that burger place downstairs? Heaven.”

Mark chuckled, his hands resting on his hips. “We’ll need to get takeout from there tonight. No way I’m cooking after all this moving.”

Hank had to excuse himself, claiming he needed to grab paperwork, but the truth was he needed a moment to collect himself. The sight of them, the way they talked about food with such enthusiasm, had his heart racing.

By the time he returned, they had already made up their minds. The rent was practically a steal, and they signed the lease on the spot.

The third-floor tenants, Gabriel and Jonathan Nunez, were a father-and-son duo with matching builds and hearty appetites. Gabriel, a widowed engineer, had a quiet demeanor, while Jonathan, a college football player, had the boisterous charm of someone used to being the center of attention.

“What do you guys usually eat?” Hank asked during the walkthrough, feigning polite curiosity.

“Mostly takeout,” Gabriel admitted. “Neither of us cooks.”

Hank nodded, suppressing a grin. The fast food places nearby would suit them just fine. No discount for these two—they could afford it—but they moved in without hesitation.

The fourth floor went to Payton McConnigton, a skinny stoner with a perpetual pot belly. Payton wasn’t Hank’s usual type, but he was an easy sell. The apartment was cheap, the neighbors kept to themselves, and the proximity to late-night food options sealed the deal.

“You’re a lifesaver, man,” Payton said, shaking Hank’s hand. “This place is perfect.”

Hank smiled, already envisioning the changes Payton’s lifestyle would bring.

Hank decided the best thing he could do was selling his apartment and moving into the fifth floor unit, it was a
With the building fully rented, Hank’s next step was clear: prepare the apartments to suit his tenants. He wanted them comfortable, but more importantly, he wanted them to stay. He had big plans for this building—and for the men inside it.

Leaning against the balcony, Hank stubbed out his cigarette and smiled to himself. The building wasn’t just an investment; it was his playground. And now, the fun could begin.