Chapter 4 - The Stake in the Lawn
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At 8:15 AM on Monday, Melissa drove her black sedan onto Brookfield Avenue. She stepped out in a tailored suit, pulled a heavy wooden post from her trunk, and drove the steel stakes of the 'For Sale' sign deep into my parents' manicured front lawn.
By 8:22 AM, my cell phone was vibrating uncontrollably on the kitchen counter of my restaurant.
Missed call: Dad.
Missed call: Mom.
Missed call: Dad.
Missed call: Tessa.
My line cook, Miguel, looked over at the buzzing phone with wide eyes.
"Boss, do we have an emergency with the food delivery?"
"No, Miguel," I said, wiping down the stainless steel prep table.
"My family is just discovering how the free market operates."
I finally wiped my hands and swiped the screen to accept my father's fifth call.
"What in the hell is planted in my front yard?!" Ron roared into the speaker.
"I assume it's grass, Dad," I replied evenly.
"Don't play dumb with me, Ian! Why is there a massive realtor sign in front of my house?!"
"Because the property is officially entering the real estate market."
A thick, suffocating silence gripped the line. You could have wrapped that silence up and sold it.
"You can't sell our house," Ron choked out, his voice suddenly cracking.
"Dad, check the county deed records. It is very aggressively my house."
I heard a sudden commotion on the other end, and my mother snatched the phone away.
"Ian Thomas! Have you lost your mind?!" Linda sobbed.
"Saturday afternoon clarified our living arrangement, Mom," I said smoothly.
"I am simply liquidating the property."
In the background, Tessa's screech echoed clearly.
"Tell him this is financial abuse! Call the police!"
"You're punishing your own blood over a tiny misunderstanding!" Linda cried out.
"Which part did I misunderstand?" I asked.
"The flying shoe directed at my pregnant wife, or your advice that she sit on the hardwood floor?"
May you like
"I said maybe sit on the floor!" Linda yelled back.
"Have your belongings packed by the closing date," I said, and hung up the phone.
