Chapter 4 - The House on the Hill
Three weeks later, the sun was shining bright and clear over the valley.
I stood at the top of the grand marble staircase of the Whittaker mansion—now legally registered under my mother’s maiden name: The Sterling Estate. My surgical incision had healed into a long, neat pink line across my flank. The heavy metals were fully cleared from my blood, and color had returned to my cheeks. I was wearing a tailored black wool coat, my mother’s vintage gold watch on my wrist, standing beside Victoria Vance and two uniformed sheriff’s deputies.
Down at the bottom of the long, winding brick driveway, a rusty yellow taxicab pulled up to the security gates.
Richard and Evelyn had been released on strict conditional bail three hours earlier, after Richard managed to scrape together bail money by signing over his last remaining personal sports car to a shady bail bondsman. They didn't know the house had been seized. They didn't know their cards were dead. They thought they were coming home to rest, regroup, and plan their defense.
The taxicab stopped at the closed gates. Richard stepped out first, looking disheveled in a wrinkled suit, his hair unwashed, his posture stooped. Evelyn slid out behind him, her designer cardigan stained, looking around wildly as if expecting reporters.
When the security gates didn't open automatically, Richard marched up to the intercom box and slammed his fist onto the button.
"Open the gate!" his voice crackled through the speaker system. "It's Richard! The code isn't working!"
I pressed the talk button on the remote in my hand. "The code was changed two weeks ago, Richard."
Richard flinched, looking up the long driveway toward the front porch where I stood. He squinted against the sun, recognizing me standing beside the sheriff’s deputies.
"Clara?!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "What the hell is this ridiculous game?! Open this gate right now! I've had a nightmare of a week, and I am not in the mood for your childish antics!"
"You don't live here anymore," I said calmly through the speaker. "In fact, you are currently trespassing on the property of the Sterling Estate."
"That is my house!" Richard screamed, his face turning that familiar, dangerous shade of purple. "I built this place! I bought the land!"
"With my mother's money," I corrected him. "Under Codicil Seven of the Sterling Family Trust, your felony indictment for poison administration and medical fraud automatically terminated your trusteeship. The sheriff beside me has a formal eviction order signed by Judge Miller. You have ten minutes to collect your personal belongings."
Evelyn let out a sharp, hysterical shriek from the gate. "You little monster! You can't do this to us! Where are we supposed to go?!"
"I suggest you check into a hotel," I replied. "Though you might have trouble paying for it. Your personal accounts have been frozen pending civil restitution judgments for my medical bills."
Richard looked at the two sheriff’s deputies standing beside me. The deputies did not move. They simply rested their hands on their duty belts, watching him with cold, impassive expressions.
Realization hit Richard like a physical blow. His shoulders slumped. The grand, powerful patriarch was gone, replaced by an broke, indicted criminal standing in the dirt outside the gate he used to own.
"Please, Clara," he begged, his voice suddenly cracking, dropping into that familiar, tearful tone he had used in his office two weeks ago when he asked for my kidney. "I'm your father. I made a mistake. I was stressed about Maya... I was desperate... You can't leave us on the street like this!"
I stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at him. I remembered the smell of the hospital room. I remembered the cold crinkle of the black trash bag brushing against my legs. I remembered him leaning over my bed, three hours out of major surgery, telling me I was useless.
"I learned how to treat family from you, Richard," I said into the microphone.
I gestured to the two housekeepers standing behind me in the foyer. They walked out onto the porch carrying three large, heavy black plastic garbage bags—stuffed with Richard’s cheap suits, Evelyn’s shoes, and Maya’s left-behind clothes.
The housekeepers tossed the black bags over the high wrought-iron gate. They landed in the dust at Richard’s feet with a heavy, crinkling thud.
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"Don't come back," I said softly into the microphone. "You're useless to this family now."
I released the button, turned my back on the gate, and walked inside my house, closing the heavy oak doors behind me.
