The area was gentrified, but I digress. (Good Realtor 2)

Raymond “Ray” Burton was what one might describe as a hipster, he wore his hair slicked back, had an “ironic” pair of thick black rimmed glasses that he actually did not need for eyesight purposes, a small mustache and goatee beard, a white button down shirt that he wore the selves up on (revealing the bald eagle tattoos he had on his arms), a red bow tie, overall-straps attached to his black pants, a black belt with a gold buckle in the shape of his initials “RB” red socks and black loafers. Despite his somewhat degenerate appearance he was not a homosexual transsexual socialist communist or liberal, he was a red-pilled believer in capitalism race realism and traditional American values (sans Christianity though he does value its social conservatism he has evolved passed the mainline Protestant superstitions of his family and embraced atheism).
 Ray however was not always this enlightened, despite hearing about the legendary anti-communist sentiment of his grandfather John Milhouse his father Frederick Thomas was what Ray may now call a “cuckservative” who had even gone as far as to change his registration and support form Marco Rubio and the Republican Party to the socialist Democratic Party and that radical anti-American Hillary Clinton when Donald Trump’s primary victory seemed clear. To make matters worse he continued his never Trumper attitudes by supporting Bill Weld in the Republican Party and when the democrats weeded out their most Maoist candidates he through his wait behind that old Leninist Joe Biden becoming his largest Wisconsin donor.
Naturally because of this weak upbringing Ray started out as what he may now call a “soy boy beta cuck” but that all changed when he went to college in Oregon, despite the degenerate Guevarist veneer the state gives off it has a long history of being “redpilled”. In the state that once banned negroids from claiming residence in its glory days both his exposure to communist blue haired feminazis and his new secret “alt right” friends he re-learned all of his grandfather’s convictions while earning his degree in modern entrepreneurial business techniques ready to achieve his dream of starting up his own businesses.
Ray had recently returned to Milwaukee and after recieving a small loan of 2 billion dollars from his father Fredrick Thomas and an additional loan of 1 billion dollars from the Walter  Tadworth Trust for the American Dream Ray was ready to become a self made man by starting his new business a  gastrobar called “Bar Raymond” above which would sit apartments priced to attract art students from  elite wealthy families. While Raymond may despise the leftism and queerness of these people as they were predominantly white he still saw their attraction to the inner city as cleaning up the neighborhood and renewing the area, besides Ray was quite amused to watch his clients discuss socialist paradises like Venezuela or Sweden while putting pictures of their $1,200,300 shrimp cocktails on the Internet from their iPhones.
There was but one obstacle for this bold new business venture of combination gastrobar and apartment complex was the few lingering residents of  Diamond Heights. This predominantly elderly Black hoard of useless eaters had recently organized behind the boorish  schoolteacher Malcolm Jefferson the son of the very  first new resident of the complex when the Burton family bought it, Carter Jefferson.
“Hell no we won’t go! Hell no we won’t go! Hell no we won’t go!” that Nubian Malcolm yelled chaining himself to the front door of the apartment complex yelling quite unreasonably and the stunned demolition crew outside the complex. Ray, who was overseeing the construction process naturally came over to put an end to this entitled outburst. Ray walked over in front of Malcolm and said “what is the meaning of this! I told all current residents of of Diamond Heights they had to be out yesteday! Let’s move it grandpa!” Malcolm spat in his racial superior’s face and said “We have been living here for years! We’ve been priced out of all the suburbs since my daddy’s day and we ain’t movin’ again cause we have no were else to go! Hell even if I did this community needs me! Look at all these kids here in Triangle North with no fathers and poor mothers working 3 Jobs! I’m more than just a teacher to these kids I’m like their father  I can’t just leave them man!” Ray rolled his eyes at this special snowflake negroid emotional outburst  “listen gramps I don’t give a shit about your feel feels I own the property and by law you and all the other nig-I mean boomers you’re riling up need to get your asses out!” Malcolm sneered “I’ve been here before your ass was in diapers and I’ll be here till the day I die! If you wanna fight me physically over it I’ll go bare knuckles with you tomorrow at high noon, I’m an old man I don’t got much left to loose.” Ray chuckled, he understood that all the African mind understands is force just like Jared Taylor always said “Alright mouth breather, I’ll take your challenge, I’ll have you know I’ve beaten hordes of antifa terrorists with the Proud Boys in my college days!’ He walked away and prepared to fight,
Ray by no means was going to fight this subhuman fair and square, he was going to finish things, once and for all. Bar Raymond was going to be built! Ray called up his connections in the network of elite Midwestern property owners and was connected via a Chicago landlord to one Dr Derek Smith. Dr Smith who was able to gift Ray with a duffel bag full of special canisters of gas he can use to take care of the “pests” in Diamond Heights as well as a gas mask to protect himself.
Ray met Malcolm in the middle the hallway, both the police/construction workers and other protesting tenants where made to stay back to prepare for the brawl between light and darkness (if you know what I mean).
Malcolm put up his fists, bringing to mind the image of a radical ANC terrorist ready to kill innocent Afrikaaner farmers during Ramaphosa’s white geoncide. “Alright Ray” he said disrespectfully referring to his landlord by his first name “Put up your dukes.” Ray smiled “Oh I will” He said quickly pulling his gas mask on and putting a canister in his hand, opening it as he used the fist he punched at Malcolm’s darkened face.the gas caused Malcolm to instantly fall down and die (the death was already set to be attributed to a novel virus originating in China).
Ray continued to march up the stairs throwing opened canisters into the other tenants rooms killing them one family by one. Several days latter when the gas subsided construction on Bar Raymond finally resumed. The area was gentrified, but I digress the fusion tapas at Bar Raymond are to DIE for.