Chapter 7 - The Eviction of Aunt Betsy
With my mother and Mason locked securely behind bars awaiting trial, my attention turned to cleaning up the rot that had infected the rest of my family.
On Tuesday morning, accompanied by two armed sheriff's deputies and a locksmith, Amy and I returned to our home in Nashville for the first time since Friday night.
The house was still in a state of chaos. The kitchen sink was filled with dried grease and moldy dishes, expensive liquor bottles lay empty on the patio, and my living room furniture had been rearranged to make room for Aunt Betsy's personal belongings.
While the locksmith worked on replacing every deadbolt and door handle on the property with smart-code digital locks, Deputy Miller stood in the driveway as Aunt Betsy and Uncle Richard arrived in their station wagon.
They had come to collect the rest of the party supplies, but Aunt Betsy stopped dead when she saw two county moving vans parked on the lawn.
"What is going on here?!" Betsy demanded, pulling her purse close to her chest. "Connor, what are those trucks doing?!"
I walked down the front steps, carrying a stack of legal notices in my hand.
"Aunt Betsy," I said calmly. "For the past six months, you have been living rent-free in the guesthouse behind my mother's townhouse in Franklin—a guesthouse that was paid for using the fifty-two thousand dollars stolen from my bank account."
Betsy’s face drained of color. "That... that was a loan from your mother!"
"It was stolen money," I corrected her. "Evelyn Thorne filed an emergency civil injunction yesterday freezing all assets connected to Teresa's property. The sheriff's department is clearing that guesthouse right now. Your furniture is being moved into a secure storage facility. You have twenty-four hours to pay the back rent of twelve thousand dollars, or the contents will be auctioned off to repay my bank account."
"You monster!" Betsy shrieked, her voice echoing down the street as neighbors began opening their front doors to watch. "We are your family! How can you do this to your own aunt?!"
"You sat in my kitchen on Friday," I said, stepping closer to her, "and laughed while my wife scrubbed pots on a plastic stool with a feverish baby in her lap. You told her she needed to 'earn her place' in my house."
Betsy opened her mouth to argue, but Uncle Richard pulled her back, looking nervously at the two deputies standing near my porch with their hands resting on their utility belts.
"Connor, please," Richard tried to soften his voice, looking desperate. "We didn't know about the forgery! Betsy was just following Teresa's lead! We were lied to!"
"You weren't lied to, Richard," I said coldly. "You were greedy. You thought Teresa was going to take over my estate, and you wanted a front-row seat at the trough. Well, the trough is empty."
I handed Deputy Miller the formal eviction notice and civil summons for Betsy and Richard.
"Officer," I said. "Please serve them."
Deputy Miller stepped forward and slapped the papers into Uncle Richard's chest. "Richard and Betsy Bradley, you are formally served. You have thirty minutes to clear any remaining personal items from this driveway before you are arrested for criminal violation of a restraining order."
Uncle Richard grabbed Betsy by the arm and practically dragged her back to their station wagon. She was sobbing hysterically, screaming curses out the window as Richard hit the gas and sped down the street, leaving a cloud of exhaust in the air.
I walked back up the porch steps and stepped into my home.
Amy was standing in the foyer, holding a bottle of disinfectant and a clean rag. The locksmith handed me three brand-new digital key cards.
"All locks recoded, Mr. Bradley," the locksmith said with a polite nod. "Old keys won't work anymore. Even the garage door opener has been cleared."
"Thank you," I said, paying him.
Once the door clicked shut behind him, Amy looked around the foyer, her shoulders dropping slightly.
"It still smells like her perfume," Amy whispered softly.
May you like
I walked over to her, took the disinfectant bottle from her hand, and set it on the table.
"Then we'll renovate," I said. "We'll tear out the carpets, repave the driveway, repaint every single wall, and replace every piece of furniture in this house. This isn't my mother's domain anymore, Amy. This is our home. And starting today, we rebuild it together."
