Chapter 9: The Notice
The next morning, we pulled up to the house at ten o’clock sharp. Ray was with us, plus two uniformed deputies from the sheriff’s office and a lawyer named Mr. Henderson in a sharp gray suit.
Mom threw the front door open before we even got out of the car, her face red and furious. “You have some nerve bringing cops here! Get off my property right now! This is private land!”
Mr. Henderson stepped forward, calm and professional, and held out a thick stack of papers. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t look angry—just firm.
“Actually, ma’am,” he said, “this property—along with all assets tied to the Wilson Family Trust—legally belongs to Amanda Wilson. These documents prove you’ve been diverting trust funds, altering financial records, and concealing assets for over ten years. You’re being served with an official eviction notice and a civil lawsuit for theft and fraud.”
Mom’s mouth fell open. She looked at the papers, then at me, then back at the papers, like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Dad stumbled back against the wall like he’d been punched in the gut again.
“That’s a lie!” Dad roared, his voice cracking. “My dad left this house to me! He told me so right before he died! That will’s fake!”
“Your father wrote the will two weeks before he passed away,” Ray said, stepping up beside me. “We have witnesses who were there when he signed it, plus his handwritten notes explaining exactly why he changed it. He didn’t trust you with this property, Tom. He knew you’d never take care of it the way it deserved.”
Lily peeked out from behind my leg, holding Mr. Floppy tight. “Mom? Are they leaving now?”
I looked at my parents—the people who’d taught me to ride a bike, who’d come to my school plays, who’d just slapped me to the floor and thrown us out like trash—and felt nothing but pity. They’d spent so long chasing money and control they’d forgotten how to be anything else.
“Pack your things,” I said, quiet but clear. “You have three days to get out.”
