Chapter 3 - THE SQUATTER'S CLAIM
When my sedan pulled up to the curb at 3:15 a.m., every light in the two-story craftsman house was blazing.
I helped Emma up the front steps, shielding her with my coat. I didn't use the front door keypad—I used my father's heavy brass skeleton key, sliding it into the deadbolt that my father had hand-installed fifteen years ago when he built the house with his own hands.
The door swung open.
The foyer smelled of burnt chamomile tea and Marlene’s suffocating lavender perfume. Gerald was sitting on the leather sofa in the living room, a stack of paper documents spread across the coffee table. Marlene was leaning against the dining archway, her arms folded tightly across her floral cardigan.
Daniel stood near the fireplace, holding a mug of water, looking completely cornered.
"Rachel," Gerald declared, standing up slowly. He was a large man, a retired regional building inspector who was used to intimidating sub-contractors and junior staff. "You need to calm down before we can have an adult conversation."
I didn't answer him. I guided Emma past them toward the kitchen. "Emma, go into the kitchen, sit at the island, and stay there."
"She belongs in her new room in the basement," Marlene chimed in, her voice sweet, high, and entirely poisonous. "Olivia is already sleeping in the upstairs bedroom. We can't have Emma stomping around upstairs waking the poor girl up after everything she's been through."
I turned slowly, facing my mother-in-law.
"Marlene," I said, my voice eerily calm. "If you speak another word about where my child sleeps in my house, I will physically remove your suitcases onto the lawn."
"You listen to me, young lady!" Gerald barked, taking two heavy steps toward me, pointing a thick finger at my face. "You don't talk to my wife like that! We have rights here! Under Oregon state law, we have established tenancy. We've received mail here for over ninety days! You can't throw us out without a formal thirty-day notice of eviction!"
He tapped the stack of papers on the coffee table.
"I consulted with my attorney last week," Gerald sneered, a triumphant grin spreading across his wrinkled face. "We are tenant-at-will residents. You try to touch our belongings, and I will have the sheriff cite you for an illegal self-help eviction. Daniel agrees with us."
I turned my head to look at my husband.
Daniel couldn't hold my gaze. He stared down at his slippers, shuffling his feet.
"Daniel?" I asked softly. "Is this true? Did you help your father research tenant rights against your own wife?"
"Rachel... look at it logically," Daniel stammered, his voice thin and pathetic. "They don't have anywhere else to go. The insurance company denied the water damage claim on their condo. They sold their furniture last month to pay off their debt. They need this house more than we need an extra bedroom!"
My breath hitched.
"They sold their furniture?" I asked, pieces of a puzzle I hadn't realized I was playing suddenly clicking into place. "Why would they sell their furniture if they were moving back to their condo after the repairs?"
Marlene’s eyes flicked nervously toward her husband. Gerald’s jaw clenched tightly.
"That's none of your business," Gerald grunted. "The point is, we live here now. Daniel lives here. Olivia lives here. You're outvoted in this family, Rachel."
"This isn't a democracy, Gerald," I said, reaching into my leather purse and pulling out my phone. "This is a single-owner real estate property."
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"Call the police!" Gerald laughed boisterously, crossing his thick arms. "Go ahead! Call them! I have mail addressed to Gerald Hart right here on the counter! The cops will tell you it's a civil matter and walk right out the door!"
"I'm not calling the police to evict you tonight, Gerald," I said, dialing a 10-digit number from memory. "I'm calling the emergency locksmith."
