THE THANKSGIVING HE LEFT BEHIND

The room started to spin.

“The deed?” I looked at Karen. She was backing away toward the kitchen, tears ruining her expensive makeup.

“Rick, I can explain,” she stammered.

I turned back to Arthur. “Explain what? What deed?”

Arthur stood up, adjusting his cuffs. He looked entirely unbothered. “My company went under three months ago. The bank was coming for our home. Karen couldn't bear the thought of her mother and I moving into an apartment. So, she took out a second mortgage on this house.”

“I didn't sign a second mortgage,” I said, my voice dead and hollow.

“No,” Arthur chuckled. “You didn't. But your signature is certainly on the documents. A rather convincing forgery. When she couldn't make the payments, the bank threatened to take this house, too. That’s when your father stepped in.”

My chest tightened. I couldn't breathe.

Jack hadn't just taken out a loan to pay them off. He had paid the past-due balance on a fraudulent mortgage to keep my wife out of federal prison for forgery.

“He paid the arrears,” Arthur continued smoothly. “And as collateral for the rest of the debt we owed, he kindly transferred the title of his own home to my holding company. I own your father's house, Rick. And since I’m liquidating all assets to recover my lifestyle, I’ve decided to sell it.”

I stared at the man. He was a monster.

I looked at Karen. The woman I had been married to for twelve years. She was sobbing, holding her face in her hands.

“You let him take my father’s house?” I whispered.

“I didn't know he was going to sell it!” she cried. “I thought we had time to pay him back!”

I didn't yell. I didn't scream.

I walked into the kitchen, grabbed a heavy trash bag from beneath the sink, and walked into our bedroom. I opened Karen’s closet and started throwing her clothes into the bag. Dresses, shoes, expensive coats bought with stolen money.

Karen ran into the room, grabbing my arm. “Rick, please! I love you! I did it to protect my family!”

I ripped my arm away. “Your family is a parasite. And you’re just like them. Get out of my house.”

I dragged three trash bags to the front door and threw them onto the porch. Arthur and Eleanor were already standing in the foyer, looking outraged.

“You will hear from my lawyers, Richard,” Arthur spat.

“I hope I do,” I said.

I slammed the door in their faces. The house fell silent.

I stood in the hallway, breathing heavily. Then, my eyes fell on Karen’s open designer purse on the entryway table.

A thick, manila envelope was sticking out of it.

I pulled it out. It was from a commercial real estate broker. I opened it and read the first page.

It wasn't a contract to sell my father's house.

It was a contract to sell my father's old mechanic shop—the commercial garage he had leased to a new owner five years ago. It was prime downtown real estate. Worth millions.