Chapter 7 - The Auction and the Street
On the fourteenth day—the final day of the eviction notice—a large yellow moving truck sat parked on the driveway of 4412 East Palm Canyon Drive.
The scorching Arizona sun beat down on the pavement as two Maricopa County Sheriff’s deputies stood by the front porch, watching as Beverly and Joanna frantically stuffed boxes into the back of the truck.
Beverly looked utterly broken. Her immaculate hair was messy, her clothes wrinkled, her face covered in sweat. She was forced to pack her belongings into cheap cardboard boxes pulled from behind a local grocery store.
Joanna sat on the curb, holding Harper, weeping openly as a team of estate locksmiths hired by my trust began changing the deadbolts on the heavy oak front doors.
Neighborhood cars drove by slowly, neighbors peeking out their windows, watching the glorious downfall of the woman who had spent seven years pretending she owned the block.
I pulled up to the curb in my white sedan.
I stepped out onto the driveway wearing a simple linen dress and sunglasses, holding a legal folder in my hand.
Beverly saw me and immediately marched toward the driveway, her voice trembling with a mixture of rage and terror.
“Are you satisfied?!” Beverly shrieked, pointing at the moving truck. “Look at us! We’re packing our lives into a rental truck! We have to move into a two-bedroom apartment in West Phoenix! Is this what you wanted?! To humiliate your own blood?!”
I stopped three feet from her.
“You brought yourself here, Beverly,” I said calmly.
“I am sixty-eight years old!” Beverly wept, her hands shaking. “How am I supposed to live in a cheap apartment?! How am I supposed to pay for my prescriptions?!”
“You can pay for them using the two hundred and forty thousand dollars you stole from my maintenance account and hid in Joanna’s Cayman Islands trust,” I stated plainly.
Beverly froze mid-sob. Her mouth snapped shut. Her eyes went wide with pure horror.
Joanna’s head snapped up from the curb, her face turning pale as chalk.
“W-what are you talking about?” Beverly stammered, her voice suddenly losing all its volume.
“I know about the offshore account, Beverly,” I said, sliding a copy of the forensic audit report from my folder and holding it up. “And I know about the forged signature on the seventy-five thousand dollar mortgage line.”
Joanna scrambled to her feet, running over. “Clara! Please! Don't do this! We’ll give the money back! We’ll transfer the trust funds back to you today!”
“It’s too late, Joanna,” I said, looking down at my sister. “The District Attorney’s office accepted the fraud filing two hours ago. A formal summons will be served to both of you by the end of the week.”
Beverly fell back a step, catching herself against the side of the moving truck. “You… you reported your own mother to the police?!”
“You called the police on my five-year-old child over a plastic doll,” I replied, my voice echoing clearly over the driveway. “You told her I didn't want her anymore. You tried to ruin her life before it even started.”
I stepped past them, turning to the locksmiths who were finishing up at the front door.
“Are the locks secured?” I asked.
“Yes, Ms. Carpenter,” the lead locksmith nodded, handing me a set of newly cut brass keys. “All exterior doors, smart pads, and garage codes have been completely reset.”
I took the keys, sliding them into my purse.
I turned back to Beverly and Joanna one last time.
May you like
“You have twenty minutes to get that truck off my daughter’s property,” I said softly. “If you are still here at noon, the deputies will arrest you for trespassing.”
Without waiting for a reply, I walked back to my car, got inside, and drove away, leaving them standing in the dust of the life they had destroyed with their own greed.
