Chapter 4 - The Homecoming That Left Them Homeless On The Curb
The Uber pulled up to the house at 7 p.m., the sun just starting to set, painting the brick front of the house pink and gold. Ethan paid the driver, grabbed both suitcases, and bounded up the front steps, Diane right behind him, adjusting her designer sunglasses even though the sun was almost gone.
“Ready to put her in her place?” Diane asked, smirking, smoothing her silk cover-up over her tanned legs.
Ethan grinned, reaching for the doorknob. “Born ready.”
The knob didn’t turn.
He jiggled it. Frowned. Tried again. It was locked—deadbolted, from the inside, the new kind you couldn’t pick with a credit card.
“Nora!” he yelled, banging on the door. “Open up! We’re home!”
No answer.
He banged louder. “Nora! This isn’t funny! Open the goddamned door!”
A soft, crackling voice came from the small black security camera mounted above the door—Nora’s voice, cold and calm, like she was talking to a telemarketer. “Ethan. Diane. I can see you. You are not allowed in this house. Leave the property immediately, or I will call the police.”
Diane’s mouth dropped open. She stepped forward, shoving Ethan out of the way, and screamed at the camera. “What did you say? This is my son’s house! You have no right to lock us out! Open this door right now, you ungrateful little—”
“The house is in my name only,” Nora interrupted, her voice flat. “The down payment was my mother’s life insurance. The mortgage has been paid with my inheritance for 12 months. A judge signed an order this morning awarding me full and exclusive use of the property. You are trespassing. And for the record? Your credit cards? Frozen. Your bank accounts? Frozen. Every asset you ever touched that had my name on it? Gone. Enjoy your tan.”
The camera went silent.
Ethan stared at it, his brain short-circuiting. He fumbled for his wallet, yanking out his black American Express—the one with the
$50,000 limit, the one he used for everything—and ran down the driveway to the gas station on the corner, Diane hot on his heels, screaming the whole way.
“Swiped it,” he said, shoving the card into the pump, his hands shaking so bad he almost dropped it. “It’ll go through. She’s bluffing. She’s just mad—”
The pump screen flashed bright red: CARD DECLINED. PLEASE SEE CASHIER.
He tried his debit card. Declined. His Visa. Declined. Diane tried all three of hers. Every single one came back declined, the red light blinking like a taunt.
“Call the bank!” Diane shrieked, yanking her phone out of her purse, her perfectly manicured nails digging into the plastic. “Call them right now! This is fraud! That little thief stole our money!”
The bank rep picked up on the fourth ring, and Ethan could hear the polite, flat tone through the phone even from three feet away. I’m sorry, Mr. Carter. All accounts associated with your Social Security number have been frozen pursuant to a court order filed earlier today by Ms. Nora Bennett, pending a divorce and felony forgery investigation. There’s nothing we can do. You’ll have to speak to your attorney.
Ethan’s knees went weak. He sat down hard on the curb outside the gas station, the concrete digging into his khaki shorts, his tanned skin suddenly feeling cold even in the 80-degree heat. Felony forgery. Divorce. Court order. None of it made sense. Nora was quiet. Nora was nice. Nora didn’t do things like this. She cried. She apologized. She let him and Diane do whatever they wanted.
“Let’s go to the house,” Diane said, her voice shrill, yanking him up by the arm. “We’ll call a locksmith. He’ll get us in. She can’t just lock us out of our own house—”
They called three locksmiths before one would agree to come out, and when he did, he took one look at the new deadbolts, the security sign in the yard, and shook his head. “Sorry, folks. Can’t do it. These locks are registered to a Nora Bennett, and there’s a no-trespass order on file for both of you with the county sheriff. I touch this door, I lose my license.”
Before Ethan could argue, the wail of a siren cut through the dark. Two sheriff’s deputies pulled up, their lights flashing, and got out of the car, hands resting on their belts.
“Ethan Carter? Diane Carter?” one of them asked, looking at a piece of paper in his hand.
Ethan nodded, his mouth dry. “Yeah. That’s us. What’s going on? Our wife—my wife—she locked us out, she stole our money—”
The deputy handed him two thick manila envelopes, sealed with red wax. “You’ve been served. Divorce petition, emergency temporary restraining order, no-trespass order for the property at 142 Oakwood Drive, and a summons to appear in court next week to answer felony charges of forgery, embezzlement, and financial exploitation of a vulnerable person. You are ordered to stay at least 100 yards away from Nora Bennett and her minor child, Lila Marie Carter, at all times. Violate that, and you go straight to jail. No exceptions.”
Diane screamed, a high, sharp sound that made the deputy flinch. “This is ridiculous! She’s lying! She’s crazy! That’s my grandson—my granddaughter! You can’t keep me from my own flesh and blood!”
The deputy didn’t flinch. “Ma’am, the order is signed by a judge. If you don’t leave this property right now, I will arrest you for trespassing and disorderly conduct. Your choice.”
They left then, dragging their champagne-colored suitcases behind them, the deputies watching until they turned the corner. The only hotel within walking distance was a run-down Motel 6 by the highway, the kind with cigarette burns on the carpets and a vending machine that only took cash. Ethan had $47 in his wallet—all the cash he’d had left from the trip. Diane had $12.
They got a room with two twin beds, the air conditioner humming so loud it shook the walls, and Diane threw her suitcase on the floor, screaming until her voice was hoarse. She screamed at Nora, at the deputies, at the bank, at the locksmith, at the world for being so unfair to her and her perfect son. Ethan sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the court papers in his hand, the words swimming in front of his eyes.
Forgery. Embezzlement. Abandonment. Felony.
He’d thought coming home would be easy. He’d thought Nora would be waiting, crying, ready to take them back, ready to pretend the last five days never happened. He’d thought they’d go back to normal—Diane in the master bedroom next to his, Nora in the guest room, him splitting his time between his mom, his wife, and Mia, all of them none the wiser.
May you like
He looked at Diane, red-faced, screaming into her phone at her attorney, and for the first time in his life, he wondered if he’d made a mistake.
But it was too late for wondering. The door was locked. The cards were dead. And the truth was coming for them—fast.
