Chapter 2 - The Sign on the Lawn
The morning sun hit the manicured green lawn of 142 Brookfield Lane at exactly 7:45 AM.
I pulled my truck up to the curb just as Melissa’s sleek black Mercedes pulled in behind me. She stepped out onto the driveway dressed in a tailored navy pantsuit, holding a leather clipboard in one hand and two heavy timber real estate posts in the back of her trunk.
"Morning, Ian," Melissa said, her red lipstick curling into a sharp smile. "Title is clear, sole ownership under your LLC, zero liens. The market in this neighborhood is red hot right now. Four-bedroom homes are selling in less than forty-eight hours. I’ve already scheduled an open house for Thursday afternoon."
"Do it," I said.
Her assistant stepped out of the Mercedes holding a heavy sledgehammer and drove the wooden post deep into the center of the front lawn. They mounted a bright white and red sign high on the post: FOR SALE – EXCLUSIVE LISTING. DO NOT DISTURB OWNER.
Before the assistant could even put the sledgehammer back in the trunk, the front oak door of the house burst open.
My mother rushed out onto the porch wearing her silk bathrobe, holding a mug of coffee. Her eyes went wide as saucers as she caught sight of the sign.
"Ian?" she called out, her voice pitching up into a shrill screech. "Ian Vance, what is the meaning of this prank? What is that ridiculous board doing in my yard?"
My father stepped out onto the porch right behind her, wearing his newspaper reading glasses and a pair of slippers. "Ian! What the hell is going on out here? Who are these people?"
I stood on the sidewalk with my hands shoved deep into the pockets of my winter coat. "Good morning, Mom. Dad. That's not a prank. That's a real estate listing."
My mother marched down the front steps, her slippers slapping against the cold concrete path. "Have you lost your mind? Take that down right now! What will the neighbors think? They’ll think we’re broke!"
"You are broke, Mom," I said flatly, my voice completely deadpan. "You’ve been broke for five years. The only reason you live here is because I pay every single bill associated with this plot of land."
My father trotted down the steps, his face flushing a deep, mottled purple. "Now look here, son! We had an agreement! You bought this house for the family!"
"I bought this house as an investment," I corrected him coldly. "And I allowed you to live here under the unspoken condition that you treat my wife with basic human decency. Last night, your unemployed thirty-two-year-old daughter threw a shoe at my pregnant wife’s head, and you told my wife to sit on the floor."
"Oh, for God's sake!" my mother gasped, throwing her hands in the air. "It was a joke! Tessa was just being dramatic! You know how sensitive she is! Are you seriously evicting your own parents over a stupid slipper?"
Right on cue, the front door opened again. Tessa ambled out onto the porch, wrapped in a plush blanket, holding her phone.
"What is all the noise out here?" Tessa whined, squinting against the morning sun. Then her eyes landed on the sign. She froze. "Wait... what is that?"
"Your brother has lost his mind," my father snapped, stepping up to the wooden post. He grabbed the wooden sign with both hands and gave it a violent yank, snapping the top bracket with a loud CRACK. He threw the sign onto the grass and kicked it.
Melissa didn't even blink. She reached into the back of her trunk, pulled out the second wooden sign, and handed it to her assistant. "Put the second one up, Mark. Right in the flower bed."
My father stared at Melissa in utter disbelief. "You can't do this! This is my house!"
"Actually, Mr. Vance," Melissa said, pulling a laminated land deed from her leather folder and holding it two inches from his face, "according to the county records, this property belongs 100% to Vance Holdings LLC, of which your son is the sole managing director. You do not own the bricks, you do not own the grass, and as of 8:00 AM this morning, your formal thirty-day notice to quit is being delivered by a process server."
Right as she said it, a white sedan pulled up to the curb. A man in a plain suit stepped out, walked up the driveway, and handed two thick white envelopes directly into my mother's and father's hands.
"You have been served," the process server said mechanically, turning around and walking back to his car.
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Tessa sprinted down the driveway, her blanket dragging in the dirt. "Ian! You can't do this to me! My online boutique business is based out of the master bedroom! Where am I supposed to store my inventory?!"
I looked my sister up and down. "Maybe on the floor next time, Tessa. You know how the market gets."
