200 Eleventh Avenue Novels & Stories

Raymond said and I chuckled We left my aunt's house and went to the address that was given to us by Raymond. In less than 30 minutes we arrived. "This could be the place" Elliot said staring at the skyscraper in front of us "Yeah, we just have to find the 11th floor" I said and we got out of the car We got inside the elevator and enquired from the lady at the reception and she directed us to the elevator "Thanks" I smiled at her and we went for the elevator. We got inside and pressed 11 on the buttons that was displayed inside and it took us to a big office

With the kind of mood he was in, she just couldn’t ask him anything. At last, the ambulance drove through the huge gates of a luxurious condominium in Battery Park, Manhattan. Symphony Terraces, Sienna read the name emblazoned on the huge panels on the wall with cascading wall fountains on either side. It was a beautiful waterfront property located along the Hudson River. The attendants helped Lucas into a wheelchair and they walked into his exclusive elevator that took them straight up to his penthouse.

Avelin POV Elias came to our apartment on a Thursday evening. He was holding a paper bag from the bakery on Mercer Street. Shen had been waiting by the door since five. He had his face pressed against the glass until he saw Elias, the head of the department, step out of the elevator. It was quite a contrast. Elias in his charcoal suit, looking like he had just walked out of a high-stakes merger. Then he was immediately brought to his knees by a three-year-old demanding to see the crust on the bread.

"Where to ladies?" he asked, his voice rough but not unkind. Ivy stepped closer, leaning slightly into the window. "Seventh Avenue, near the corner of Baker Street," she replied. The driver nodded. "That’ll be twenty bucks." Ivy nodded in agreement and turned back to Dr. Collins, who was already opening her arms for one last hug. They embraced once more, the children standing nearby, waiting patiently. As Ivy climbed into the taxi with Ethan and Lily, they both turned around to wave goodbye, their small hands flapping through the open window.

The bald thin old man asked politely. “Yes, it’s me, and you must be Jun.” I smiled, and he nodded. “Yes, Ms. Harris, Ms. Williams called up earlier to give you assistance to her brother’s apartment.” He pressed some keys on the security system must be the private elevator. Then the door slid open. “The elevator will stop on the eleventh floor. Mr. Williams’ apartment is at 11-B. Have a great day, Ms. Harris!” Jun pressed the number eleven button then stepped out.

The blueprints were spread out, the address printed clearly at the top. Beatrice walked over to the desk and looked down at the papers. "So," she said, tapping a manicured fingernail on the blueprint, "this is the apartment you are designing for her?" "Yes," I said, walking over. "Zyran bought it today. It’s a rush job, but I’m going to make it beautiful. I want her to feel comfortable." Beatrice read the address on the paper: 1402 Lakeview Drive, Penthouse B. She froze.

The corridor on eleven was hushed in that expensive way: thick carpet, art that meant nothing, a tray of uneaten ice melting outside 1108. Sienna’s staff shoes made no sound. The second key sat against her palm like a secret that had already been used. 1104. She didn’t knock. He’d asked with his mouth. She let the card kiss the reader. Green. The lock sighed. Adrian hadn’t turned on the overheads. City glow poured through the floor-to-ceiling glass, rain-silver on the river, the bed a dark continent already pulled apart.

The address Lucas sent on Sunday night was a building on Lexington Avenue, twelve floors, unremarkable from the outside in the deliberate way of buildings that housed things they preferred not to advertise. No signage beyond the street number. A lobby with two security desks and a receptionist who looked like she had been chosen specifically for her capacity to appear neither welcoming nor hostile. I arrived with Lillian at nine fifty-five Monday morning.

The address Jessica provided wasn't a warehouse in Red Hook. That had been misdirection in case I showed the letter to authorities. The real location came via text at 8:45 AM: "Change of plans. Penthouse suite, 432 Park Avenue. Top floor. Come alone. The doorman is expecting you." 432 Park Avenue. One of the most expensive residential buildings in Manhattan. Luxury apartments with panoramic city views. Security cameras everywhere. The last place I expected for a confrontation with a fugitive.

he chuckled. “Aren’t you overreacting now? Why would I be in love with you?” I scoffed, although I wasn’t so sure now. Was this love? No, I didn’t think so. He smiled, loving my reaction. “Just joking, Daniella.” He drove through the gates of an iconic architectural masterpiece in Manhattan's most sought-after residential neighborhood. The name engraved on the entranceway of the luxurious condominium read Elysium Hudson Towers! With a private porte-cochère and a landscaped garden complex spanning five towers, this place was grander than the one he took me to a few days back.