Only heat.
Only the sound of their own entitlement coming back at them.
Then Audrey began fanning herself.
“Why is it so warm in here?”
Nolan jabbed at the thermostat.
“It’s not turning on.”
Audrey opened the kitchen faucet. The pipes gave a dry cough and nothing more.
“Is there no water?”
Cynthia stared at me.
“What did you do to the utilities?”
“I canceled them,” I said. “I don’t live here anymore. Electric, water, cable, internet, all of it. The property is being renovated.”
Nolan looked more offended by that than by the legal documents.
“There’s no internet?”
For some reason, that hit Audrey hardest.
“No Wi-Fi?”
I almost smiled.
“No Wi-Fi.”
And there, inside a multi-million-dollar house with no furniture, no appliances, no water, no air conditioning, no internet, and no legal right to stay, the Vale family’s beautiful little plan began to melt.
The Price of Waiting
The movers became the next problem Cynthia had not considered. They had been sitting outside for nearly three hours, and working men with trucks do not generally appreciate being hired into a family fantasy without payment. Their foreman, a large white-haired man named Hank Porter, walked up to Cynthia with a clipboard and asked whether they were unloading or heading back.
Cynthia waved him off.
“Not today. We’ll reschedule.”
Hank looked at her as if she had just asked the sun to reschedule sunset.
“Ma’am, the contract covers two trucks, crew time, waiting time, return mileage, and canceled unloading. Total comes to forty-eight hundred dollars.”
Cynthia gave a dry laugh.
“For doing nothing?”
“For showing up because you told us to,” Hank replied.
Nolan tried stepping toward him.
“You don’t want to push us.”
Hank looked at him once, slowly, and Nolan’s confidence thinned like cheap paper.
The officer explained that the moving bill was a civil matter, but the contract appeared valid. Cynthia eventually opened a small designer purse and counted out payment with hands that trembled more than she wanted anyone to notice. Each bill seemed to hurt her.
