Chapter 6 - The Hour of Ashes
At 10:30 AM, two police cruisers sat idling outside the Arlington Heights townhouse, their blue and red lights reflecting off the wet pavement.
Victoria stood on the sidewalk under a large black umbrella, her Commercial Director pantsuit looking crisp and dry. Beside her stood Arthur Vance, holding a legal clipboard, and three professional movers carrying empty cardboard boxes.
Inside the house, the scene was chaotic.
Linda was screaming at the police officers, her hair disheveled, her expensive silk blouse stained with sweat. "This is my house! I have a right to my things! She’s a monster! Look what she did to her own family!"
"Ma'am," the older officer said, his hand resting calmly on his utility belt. "You have thirty minutes left. If you don't pack your personal items, we will escort you out of the building, and the remaining property will be seized by the owner."
Ryan was sitting on the stairs, his head in his hands, weeping. He looked up as the movers began carrying out the expensive Italian leather sofa Victoria had paid for, the 75-inch smart TV, and the high-end espresso machine.
"Victoria!" Ryan ran to the front door, but the younger officer immediately stepped in his path, his hand on his holster.
"Sir, do not cross the threshold. The restraining order is active."
Through the open door, Ryan saw Victoria standing under her umbrella. She looked at him with those cold, beautiful eyes, her bald head looking like a crown of modern steel.
"Victoria, please!" Ryan begged, his voice cracking. "I’m sorry! I’ll make my mother apologize! She was wrong! I was wrong! We can fix this! You don't have to do this to us!"
Victoria didn't say a word. She didn't even lift her hand.
She simply turned her back on him, walked to her Volvo SUV, and got in. The engine started with a quiet, powerful purr, and she drove away, leaving them in a cloud of exhaust and rain.
By 11:30 AM, Linda and Ryan stood on the curb, surrounded by four mismatched suitcases and a few plastic garbage bags filled with their clothes.
The movers had finished. The locks on the front door were being changed by a locksmith Victoria had hired.
They had no money. They had no jobs. They had no home.
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"Where are we supposed to go, Ryan?" Linda wept, her hands trembling as she clutched a plastic bag. "My friends... what will they say? We’re homeless!"
"I don't know, Mom," Ryan whispered, staring at his worn shoes. "I don't know."
