Chapter 7 - The Final Item
By 1:00 p.m., truck number one was completely full.
Truck number two was loaded with the washer, dryer, HVAC condenser units, custom bathroom vanities, and three thousand dollars worth of Italian marble tile that had been sitting uninstalled in the garage.
The house was a shell.
It looked worse than it had three years ago when I first stepped inside.
The empty rooms echoed with every footstep. The exposed lightbulbs cast long, ugly shadows across the stripped walls. The smell of dust and old drywall filled the air where expensive candle fragrances used to linger.
Marcus walked out of the house holding his clipboard.
"That's everything on the interior list, Emily," Marcus said, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "We've cleared the furniture, the appliances, the fixtures, and the hardware."
I looked down at page eight of my leather master folder.
There was one single item remaining at the very bottom of the page.
Item number 40: Custom Marvin Impact-Resistant Entry Doors and Architectural Frame.
I looked at the front entrance of the house.
Two massive, eight-foot-tall solid mahogany double doors with hand-carved panels and brushed-brass electronic locksets.
I had paid two hundred and ten thousand pesos ($12,000 USD) for those custom doors eight months ago after a storm blew out the old rotting pine doors.
A slow, vicious smile spread across my face.
"Marcus," I said softly.
Marcus followed my gaze to the mahogany front doors. His eyes widened slightly, then a deep, booming laugh escaped his chest.
"You want the front doors, Emily?" Marcus asked, grinning from ear to ear.
"It's on the receipt, Marcus," I replied, handing him the pen. "Item number forty."
"Daniel!" Margaret screamed from the lawn as Marcus’s team walked up the steps with battery-powered sawzalls and heavy crowbars. "They're taking the front door! They're taking the front door!"
Daniel sprinted out of the house, his hands raised in absolute horror.
"Emily, no! You can't take the front doors!" Daniel shrieked. "The house won't be secure! Anyone can walk in off the street!"
"Then you'd better sit on the porch and guard it, Daniel," I said, taking three steps back as the carpenters began unbolting the heavy brass hinges from the frame.
BZZZZZZT.
The heavy power saws cut through the mounting shims with a terrifying, screeching roar.
Five minutes later, the two massive solid mahogany doors were lifted out of the entry wall, leaving a wide, gaping, eight-foot hole in the front of Margaret’s estate.
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The autumn wind blew straight through the open void, swirling dry leaves and dust directly into the empty foyer.
Margaret collapsed back onto the grass, clutching her face, weeping tears of pure, unadulterated defeat.
