Chapter 18 - The Eviction Notice of Lies
On the first Monday of January, a bright yellow legal placard was nailed to the front door of 424 Meadowbrook Lane in Wayne, Pennsylvania.
*“NOTICE OF SHERIFF’S SALE AND EVICTION. BY ORDER OF THE DELAWARE COUNTY COURT OF COMMON PLEAS.”*
Inside the darkened house, Richard Bennett sat on the bottom step of the grand staircase, his head in his hands.
The heat had been turned off two days ago. His breath came out in small, white clouds in the freezing air of the foyer. The pipes in the upstairs bathroom had burst during the night, and water was slowly dripping through the plaster ceiling of the dining room, landing with a rhythmic, hollow *plink… plink… plink* onto the bare hardwood floor where his VIP Christmas Eve guests were supposed to have dined.
The front door opened with a groan.
Richard lifted his head, his eyes hollow, sunken into dark purple sockets.
Evan walked in, dragging his cardboard box behind him like a broken dog. He had no winter boots, only thin leather loafers soaked through with freezing slush.
Father and son stared at each other in the dim light of the ruined mansion.
There were no excuses left.
No lies left to trade.
No golden futures left to manufacture.
“Mom’s attorney served the divorce papers in Columbus this morning,” Richard whispered, his voice dry as dead leaves. “She’s claiming spousal fraud. She’s asking the court to assign all remaining marital liabilities to me.”
Evan dropped his cardboard box onto the floor. It split open, spilling his corporate awards, his silver pen sets, and his framed Dartmouth diploma across the wet runner.
“The grand jury convened in New York an hour ago, Dad,” Evan said, his voice flat, deadened by shock. “My attorney says the indictment will come down by Friday. I have to surrender myself at the federal courthouse in lower Manhattan.”
Richard closed his eyes.
A single tear rolled down his wrinkled, grey cheek, freezing in the stubble of his beard.
“All she had to do,” Richard croaked, his voice cracking into a pathetic, broken whisper, “was clean the house. All she had to do was cook the turkey.”
Evan looked around the dark, freezing entryway.
He saw the kitchen counter where the yellow legal pad had sat.
He saw the bare Christmas tree rotting in the corner.
He heard the steady, relentless drip of water destroying the ceiling above them.
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“She didn't destroy us, Dad,” Evan said, and for the first time in his life, his voice carried the dreadful weight of absolute truth. “We were already dead. We just didn't know it until she stopped carrying our corpses.”
***