Chapter 3 - The First Domino
I didn't return to the motel right away. Instead, I drove to a small, quiet diner on the edge of town, a place that smelled of fried potatoes and strong black coffee. I sat in a booth by the window, watching the snow fall over the distant Chugach Mountains. For the first time in months, I felt completely at peace.
My phone rang at 11:42 AM.
The caller ID flashed Andrew.
I took a slow sip of my coffee, letting the phone vibrate against the Formica table. It rang until it went to voicemail. Thirty seconds later, it rang again. Then a third time.
On the fourth ring, I swiped the green button and held the phone to my ear, remaining completely silent.
“Mom? Mom, answer me!” Andrew’s voice was frantic, breathless, and laced with a rising, uncontainable panic. It wasn't the arrogant, hissing voice of the man who had slapped me twenty-four hours earlier.
“I’m here, Andrew,” I said quietly.
“What did you do?!” he screamed, his voice cracking. “I just got a courier delivery from the bank! They’re saying Dad’s will is void! They’re saying the house is in a trust, and—Mom, they’re saying I owe the bank four hundred thousand dollars! They froze my business accounts! What the hell is going on?!”
I looked out the window at the falling snow. “It appears your father left his affairs in very specific order.”
“You have to fix this!” he demanded, the old, entitled anger flaring up to mask his terror. “Chloe is hyperventilating. The bank says we have an eviction notice! You can't kick me out of my own house!”
“It isn't your house, Andrew. It hasn't been for a long time.”
“I’m your son! You can’t do this to me over a stupid argument!”
I touched the bruise on my cheek. The memory of his heavy hand striking my face in front of his father’s casket burned in my mind. “It wasn't an argument, Andrew. It was an eviction. You told me to get out of my home. I simply followed your instructions to the letter. And now, the bank is following mine.”
“Mom, please—”
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“You have thirty days to vacate my property,” I said, my voice dropping to a terrifying, absolute calm. “Do not call this number again. Any further communication will go through my attorney.”
I ended the call and powered off my phone. I slid it into my purse, left a five-dollar bill on the table for the waitress, and walked out into the cold Alaskan air. The storm was just beginning, but for once, I wasn't the one caught in the blizzard.
