[PART 6 — THE LANDING] Now, I sit on the porch of our new cottage, three towns over, where the air smells of salt and cedar. Mom is in the garden, planting hydrangeas in soil that actually belongs to us. I have a glass of iced tea in one hand and a final notice from the bankruptcy court in the other. Sterling’s “empire” was sold at auction for pennies on the dollar last Tuesday at 10:00 AM sharp.
He tried to build his palace on my Mother’s tears, but he forgot that I’m the one who keeps the books. My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number—Sterling, begging for a settlement. I didn’t reply; I just blocked the number and watched the sun set.
You can’t evict a woman who knows exactly where the bodies are buried and who holds the deed to the graveyard.
