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Paris lives. Paris is viscerally and palpably alive. It is loved, and carefully tended. Parisians are proud people and they have every right to be as their city is a jewel to be admired and fully experienced. It seemed a lifetime ago that Allan, her former boss, instructed Lindsey to find an apartment near the Eiffel Tower. He was unaware that Lindsey had already begun putting her pieces in play; pieces that would result in his eventual demise and result in her ascendance to a place of wealth she could never have imagined.
She wanted the apartment in the 7th arrondissement. It had to be on the top floor as she didn’t want to hear people walking above her. It had to have a spectacular view of the Eiffel Tower. And she wanted to eventually own the entire floor.
Her agent, Madam DuBois, was tasked to find just such a place. And so, on a crisp fall morning, she had a twinkle in her eye as she stood waiting for Lindsey’s limousine to pull up to the curb. She waited patiently as the driver came around and opened the door for Lindsey.
“I love this area,” Lindsey said as she looked up and down the tree lined avenue. Like sentries standing post, the canopy of shade trees ran majestically down the immaculately kept Avenue de la Bourdonnais. The trees were in various stages of transition; some still vibrantly green, while others fully adorned in fall colors. A few leaves had already fallen and scrattled down the sidewalk in the light breeze. The air tinged with a cool crispness, a harbinger of winter soon coming.
The avenue was filled with a medley of people: from joggers to impeccably dressed women walking purposefully in their ubiquitous Parisian stride, and locals casually taking an afternoon stroll to the local bistro for a glass of wine or café.
A giggle of teenage girls passed, their reverie heightened by the immutable fact they were young, beautiful, but best of all - Parisian.
c. 2012, L. Neyl Rietcheck