Chapter 6 - The Flying Monkeys Fall
Ten minutes later, Melissa and Chloe stood on the icy curb with two duffel bags, their breath pluming into the gray morning sky. Deputy Henderson stayed parked across the street, ensuring Melissa didn't attempt to smash a window or key my truck.
That was when the silver Lincoln Navigator came roaring down the street, its tires sliding slightly on the patch of black ice at the mouth of the cul-de-sac.
My father didn't even put the SUV completely in park before throwing his door open. He charged up the driveway like a wounded bull, his heavy winter coat flapping behind him, my mother trailing frantically in his wake.
"Get your hands off her!" my father roared, pointing a shaking finger at Pete, who was finishing the installation of the smart-lock keypad on the front door. "Jared, you sick bastard! What have you done?!"
My mother rushed directly to Melissa, wrapping her in a dramatic embrace, both of them sobbing loudly enough to wake the entire neighborhood. Curtains were already twitching in the houses across the street.
"Officer!" my father barked, rounding on Deputy Henderson. "I demand you stop this! This is an illegal eviction! My daughter lives here! She has tenant rights!"
Henderson didn't even shift his weight. He pulled a copy of the court writ from his clipboard. "Sir, I advise you to lower your voice. This is a court-ordered emergency writ of possession signed by a county judge. The tenancy was terminated due to felony conduct. If you interfere with the execution of this order, I will arrest you for obstruction."
My father stopped dead in his tracks. His face went from bright red to an ashen, sickly gray. In his entire life, the law had never pushed back against him. He had spent forty years running a regional supply firm, bullying employees and dictating terms to his family.
He turned his fury back on me.
"Look at yourself," he spat, his voice dropping into a guttural growl. "Throwing your own sister and your niece onto the street. Is this what Sarah taught you? Is this the kind of man she made you?"
Bringing Sarah’s name into his mouth was a mistake.
I took two slow steps down from the porch, stopping less than an arm's length from him. I didn't shout. I didn't raise a fist. But the look in my eyes made my father flinch backward half a step.
"Do not ever speak my wife’s name again," I whispered.
"Jared, please!" my mother cried, stepping between us, her hands fluttering like dying birds. "We’re a family! Families forgive! Whatever Melissa did, we can fix it! We can pay for the damage to your shop! We’ll make Derek apologize!"
"You'll pay for it?" I gave a short, bitter laugh. "With what, Mom? With the money Dad owes on his second mortgage? Or the money Melissa stole from my LLC?"
"She didn't steal anything!" my mother wailed.
I pulled out my tablet, which Marcus had synced to my shop's accounting server and my personal banking records. I turned the bright screen toward my father's face.
"Five years, Dad," I said, scrolling through the illuminated rows of numbers. "Year one: $34,000 for Melissa's divorce lawyers, paid by me because you said you were 'temporarily illiquid.' Year two: $18,000 to replace the HVAC unit in this house, paid by me. Year three: $12,000 in property taxes that you swore you’d reimburse me for at tax season. Year four: $22,000 to keep her Mercedes out of the repossession queue."
I swiped to the grand total at the bottom of the spreadsheet.
"$186,400. That’s how much cash I have poured into this house and Melissa’s lifestyle while Sarah was fighting for her life in chemotherapy. And not once—not one single time—did you or Mom ever come over to watch Noah or Ellie so I could sit by Sarah’s hospital bed."
My mother froze. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"You sat at that table last night," I continued, my voice cutting through the freezing air like a straight razor, "and you watched your daughter feed cat food to a six-year-old child whose mother is buried in Oak Hill Cemetery. You laughed. You thought it was funny."
"It was just a prank..." my father mumbled, but the bluster had completely drained out of him. His eyes couldn't meet mine; they slid downward, staring at the frozen slush beneath his leather boots.
"Your prank cost you a son," I said. "And it cost Melissa this house."
I turned to Pete. "Is the code set?"
"All set, Jared," Pete said, packing his drill into his tool kit. "Six-digit master code on the deadbolt, secondary deadbolt keyed to your master ring. The perimeter window alarms are active."
I looked at Melissa, who was clutching her mother's arm, glaring at me with raw, undiluted hatred.
"You have until five o'clock tomorrow evening to have professional, licensed movers come under sheriff supervision to collect your furniture," I told her. "If you set foot on this property without a deputy present, you go to jail. If you contact Noah or Ellie, I will file for an emergency protective order within twenty minutes."
"I hate you," Melissa hissed, her voice shaking with venom. "I wish you had died instead of Sarah."
Deputy Alvarez immediately stepped between us, her expression hardening. "Alright, that’s enough. Everyone into the Lincoln. Move. Right now."
My father didn't say another word. He took Melissa by the elbow, guided Chloe into the backseat, and helped my weeping mother into the passenger side.
May you like
As the Lincoln backed out of the driveway and sped away down the snowy street, I stood on the porch of the empty, freezing house. The silence that followed was the cleanest, purest thing I had felt in years.
***
