I felt like a general preparing for a siege, not a woman about to be evicted from her own home.
By seven-thirty, a fresh pot of coffee brewed.
I sat at my restored kitchen table, calmly reviewing the file I had prepared.
Each document was a bullet.
And I had a full magazine.
At eight a.m. sharp, David Chen’s immaculate gray sedan pulled up the drive.
He got out, carrying a sleek leather briefcase, and nodded at me with a grimly satisfied smile.
“Hannah, you look… ready.”
“More than ready,”
I said, handing him a mug of coffee.
“Good. Sergeant Miller just texted. He and Officer Rivas will be parked at the end of the road at eight-thirty. Out of sight, but listening. They’ll roll in the moment Andrew and his crew refuse to leave.”
The next thirty minutes were the longest of my life.
I stood by the living room window watching the empty road.
David sat at the table calmly sipping coffee like he was waiting for a routine client meeting.
At eight fifty-nine on the dot, it began.
First, a massive yellow moving truck—Andy’s Big Move—rumbled up the long driveway.
It looked absurdly large against the Victorian farmhouse.
It parked in the gravel turning circle, and two men in matching jumpsuits got out, looking around uncertainly.
Seconds later, my mother’s beige sedan pulled in behind it.
Margaret got out of the passenger side, already tense.
Then my brother Andrew emerged from the driver’s seat.
He was wearing his deal-closing suit.
The one he’d probably bought with our mother’s credit card.
He clapped his hands together and strode toward the movers, radiating false, booming confidence.
“Morning, fellas!”
he shouted.
“This is the place. We’re doing a full clear-out.”
Then he saw me on the porch.
David Chen stood at my side, briefcase in hand.
Andrew’s step faltered.
His grin flickered.
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