Mogul Mansion

Ah, dear reader, let us turn the pages of the calendar a few years forward. Time, the great equaliser, had passed, and Donald had metamorphosed into the undisputed property mogul of southeast Melbourne, the sultan of suburbs, the maharaja of mansions.

His victory over his competitors was not merely decisive but annihilating, leaving no room for dispute or doubt. His reign was absolute, his wealth incomprehensible, and his ego a behemoth unchecked. And at the heart of his empire, standing like a grotesque testament to his conquests, was his palace – a monstrous mansion in Mount Waverley.

The mansion was no less than a fortress – with ostentatious gold fixtures, soaring turrets, manicured gardens that seemed to stretch into the horizon, and a moat that encircled the property like a serpent protecting its treasure. It was an architectural aberration, a grotesque monument that reflected not just Donald’s wealth but his flagrant disregard for the community, his flippant nonchalance for anyone but himself.

While his mansion towered over the city, casting long, stark shadows, the city itself began to wither. The rapid rise of property prices, propelled by Donald’s buying frenzy and the calculated strategies of his AI assistant (for with her, he had no need of a professional buyer’s agent based in southeast Melbourne), pushed people out of their homes, out of their neighbourhoods. The familiar streets where they had played as children, dreamt as teenagers, and built lives as adults, were now priced beyond reach.

With Donna, his AI assistant and effective buyer’s agent for Brighton East property, Donald added another jewel to his already bedazzling crown. The city sunk deeper into the quagmire of the housing crisis. Families were rendered homeless, dreams were shattered, and the city’s soul was traded for glittering gold.

The connection, dear reader, between Donald’s victories and the city’s defeat was as clear as the daylight that his mansion blocked. Yet, he was oblivious, ensconced in his fortress of gold and greed, blind and deaf to the growing despair that lay at his doorstep. For in his pursuit of power, he had lost the essence of humanity – the ability to empathise, to care, to share. Some might even have said that Donald was no longer human at all.

As we turn the page, dear reader, the city lies at a precipice. Will it plummet into the abyss, or will there be a ray of hope? Time, as they say, will tell.