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Marcus pulled out his tablet and brought up his calculator. He showed her the breakdown: the projected after-repair value based on neighborhood comps, minus the estimated $80,000 in repair and clean-out costs, minus his company's profit margin.

Elena sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to deflate her shoulders. "I know. A regular buyer wouldn't touch this. An inspector would have a field day. I just want it over with. I need to pay off his medical bills and close this chapter."

Waiting for him was Elena. She was in her late fifties, with tired eyes and hands that she kept burying deep in the pockets of her knitted cardigan. we buy houses portland oregon

"Marcus?" she asked, her voice barely rising above the sound of passing traffic.

The next two weeks were a whirlwind. Marcus’s team moved in with industrial dumpsters. It took four full containers just to clear the debris. As the layers of junk were peeled away, the true charm of the 1924 craftsman began to emerge—original fir floors hidden under stained carpet, and beautiful built-in cabinetry in the dining room. Marcus pulled out his tablet and brought up his calculator

Marcus pulled out a flashlight and began his assessment. He looked past the hoard, focusing on the bones of the house. He checked the corners for structural settling. He looked at the ceiling for water stains that would indicate a failing roof. He peeked behind a stack of National Geographic magazines to look at the electrical panel—old screw-in fuses. That would need a complete update.

"Yes, ma'am. Great to finally meet you in person," Marcus said, offering a warm, practiced smile. "Thank you for showing me the place." "I know

The fluorescent lights of the office hummed at a frequency that always gave Marcus a slight headache by 4:00 PM. On his desk sat a stack of yellow legal pads, a half-empty cup of cold black coffee, and a printed spreadsheet of distressed properties in Multnomah County.