Chapter 2 - The Irrevocable Notice
The document staring up at Denise wasn't just a polite note asking for manners. It was an immediate, unconditional Revocation of Permissive Occupancy and an Unconditional Notice of Non-Renewal for the townhouse across town.
Denise leaned forward, her reading glasses sliding down her nose. "What is this nonsense?"
"You recognize the address, Denise," I said, my voice level and cold. "412 Elmwood Ridge. The three-bedroom townhouse you, Kyle, and Monica have been living in for the past two and a half years."
The room seemed to shrink. Ethan took a step forward, his eyes widening. "Mom... wait. What does the townhouse have to do with today?"
"Everything, Ethan," I said without glancing at him. "When your father passed, he left me three rental properties. When Natalie and you got married, Denise cried that her landlord was foreclosing and she was on the brink of homelessness. Natalie begged you. You begged me. Out of love for you, I allowed them to move in under a below-market family lease—five hundred dollars a month for a place that rents for twenty-two hundred."
Kyle stepped out from the kitchen, still clutching Arthur’s bourbon, his smug posture suddenly defensive. "We pay that rent! Mostly!"
"You haven't paid a dime since June, Kyle," I replied. "And worse, your mother told everyone in Natalie's family that Ethan owned the deed and was letting them live there as an act of charity from *his* pocket. You treated that house like trash, and then you decided to treat this house like your annex."
"You can't do this!" Denise shrieked, springing up from Arthur’s recliner. Her glass tipped, splashing red wine across the hardwood floor. "We have rights! We're family!"
"You are Natalie's mother. You are not my family," I said. "You have thirty days to vacate 412 Elmwood Ridge. And as for this house? You have precisely five minutes to clear your guests, your shoes, and your trash off my property, or the sheriff's department will remove you in handcuffs."
"Ethan!" Denise turned to her son-in-law, tears instantly welling in her eyes with theatrical precision. "Look at how your mother is speaking to me! Natalie, tell him! We have nowhere else to go! She's throwing your family into the street over some brisket!"
Ethan rubbed his temples, his face flushing crimson. "Mom, please. Can we just talk about this tomorrow? Look at all these people here. You’re causing a massive scene."
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"No, Ethan. *She* caused the scene the moment she brought a dozen strangers into my home to rummage through your dead father's belongings." I pointed at the clock on the mantle. "Four minutes."
***
