Chapter 6 - The Unraveling
The book club did not finish its discussion of Chapter 4.
According to Chloe, the patio cleared out in under three minutes. Neighbors grabbed their tote bags, muttered hurried excuses about dentist appointments and casserole dishes in the oven, and fled down the driveway while Marilyn stood in the foyer, screaming at the top of her lungs.
“Call her!” Marilyn shrieked, waving the papers in Arthur’s face. “Call that ungrateful little witch right now! What kind of sick prank is this?”
Arthur was sitting on the stairs, his reading glasses trembling in his hands as he read through the Special Warranty Deed attached as Exhibit A.
“Arthur! Why aren't you dialing her number?”
“She... she’s not bluffing, Marilyn,” Arthur whispered, his voice completely drained of color.
Brooke walked in from the kitchen, holding a glass of chardonnay. “Mom, why are you screaming? You can hear you all the way down the street. Evan is trying to play his video game.”
“Your sister is trying to evict us!” Marilyn howled. “She sent the police to my front door in front of Brenda Higgins! Brenda’s husband is on the country club board!”
Brooke scoffed, taking a sip of wine. “Oh, please. Claire can’t evict anyone. She rents a dingy one-bedroom on 8th Street. Dad owns the house.”
Arthur slowly looked up from the documents. His face was gray.
“No, Brooke,” Arthur said. “I don't.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Brooke lowered her wineglass. “What are you talking about?”
“Six years ago,” Arthur stammered, rubbing his temples. “When the business went under... the liens... the bank was going to seize everything in fourteen days. The only way the mortgage company would agree to stop the sheriff's sale was if Claire took full legal title. She paid off the second mortgage and took the deed into her name.”
Brooke’s mouth fell open. “You gave *her* the house?”
“We didn't *give* it to her!” Marilyn screamed, turning on her husband like an enraged cat. “She said it was just a technicality! She promised me on the Holy Bible that this would always be our home! She tricked us!”
“Did you pay the property taxes last November, Marilyn?” Arthur asked quietly.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Read page three,” Arthur choked out. “Our agreement to live here was conditional. If we failed to pay the taxes or the hazard insurance, her obligation to house us terminated immediately. Claire has been paying the taxes from her personal checking account for three years.”
“Because she makes more money than us!” Brooke yelled, her voice pitching into hysteria. “She owes us that! We’re her family!”
Brooke snatched the documents from her father’s hands and flipped furiously to the final page.
There, stamped in blue ink, was a formal summons:
*NOTICE IS HEREBY GIVEN that you have thirty (30) days from service of this notice to completely surrender and vacate the premises known as 412 Elmcrest Lane. Failure to vacate by 5:00 PM on June 30th will result in the immediate filing of an Unlawful Detainer lawsuit, eviction by Ada County Sheriff, and a claim for actual damages including unauthorized structural changes to the basement suite.*
At the bottom was Marcus Vance’s direct phone number.
Underneath it, typed in clean, cold font:
*All direct contact with Claire Miller is strictly prohibited. Any attempts to harass, confront, or intimidate the owner will result in an immediate application for a Temporary Restraining Order.*
Brooke dropped the papers onto the carpet.
Her phone rang. It was her ex-husband, asking if he could drop Evan off for the weekend.
May you like
Brooke didn't answer. She looked around the expansive living room, with its hardwood floors, vaulted ceilings, and crown molding—the home she had planned to inherit, the home where she lived without paying a dime of rent—and for the first time in her life, true terror flickered in her eyes.
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