The very air at the run–down apartment of Mr. Bobby froze as Thompson Montclair, the billionaire oil landed— offering fortunes to Carl. Anyone would have jumped at this offer, grab it before it slips off but there stood Carl, his expression flat and unreadable like he'd simply heard Thompson speaking about dashing out cheese!Mr. Bobby swallowed, his wrinkled pants which were held with rope rather than a belt slipped below his waist, the broadcast from his radio fading in his ear. Yesterday, this poor looking man, Carl, had come to rent his apartment. He came with nothing but a scuffed bag but paid immediately while most tenants would still ask for discounts.His eyes squinted on Carl. Was it luck? Because what could make a billionaire, a whole Thompson Montclair! Comes to his cramped apartment for this man. Or what could his identity really be?! Maybe the worn out ensembles are just a phony facade for his actual identit...His thoughts were suddenly jammed by Carl's response. He cho