Chapter 8 - The eviction and the Breakdown
At 8:00 AM on Thursday morning, two marked Sheriff’s department cruisers, accompanied by a court officer and an eviction crew, pulled up outside the dark house across the street.
Mark and Eleanor, bleary-eyed, disheveled, and smelling of sweat from two days without power or air conditioning, opened the front door to find Sheriff’s Deputy Miller standing on the porch holding a yellow notice.
"Mark Miller, Eleanor Miller," the deputy announced coldly. "I am serving you with an immediate court-ordered Emergency Protection Order and a Notice of Summary Eviction executed by the sole property owner, Claire Miller."
"Eviction?!" Eleanor shrieked, her voice cracking. "You can't evict us! This is my son’s house!"
"This house is owned entirely by the Claire Miller Family Revocable Trust, ma'am," the court officer stated flatly. "You have fifteen minutes to gather your personal clothing. Anything left behind will be impounded."
"Where are we supposed to go?!" Mark shouted, clutching his head in panic. "My bank accounts are frozen! My car won't start! I don't have money for a hotel!"
"That is a private matter, sir," the deputy replied, placing his hand on his holster. "Start packing, or you will be arrested for criminal trespass immediately."
While two deputies watched them like hawks, Mark and Eleanor frantically stuffed dirty clothes into trash bags. Across the city at that exact moment, repossession agents were towing Chloe’s sports car from her downtown apartment building while land agents served her with a three-day vacate notice for unpaid rent.
When Mark and Eleanor were finally escorted down the driveway onto the public sidewalk carrying their black trash bags, Mark’s phone—which he had charged briefly in a convenience store—rang.
It was Chloe.
"Mark! What is happening?!" Chloe screamed through the speaker. "Two men just towed the car away, and my landlord says my apartment lease was revoked! Where is my monthly check?!"
"Chloe, babe, listen to me—" Mark started nervously.
"Are you broke?!" she shrieked. "I saw the news broadcast! You don't own anything! You’re a fake!"
"Chloe, wait—"
May you like
Click. She hung up and blocked his number forever.
Eleanor sat on top of her trash bag on the dusty curb, clutching her knees and sobbing hysterically as neighbors gathered on their lawns, pointing and taking photos of the fallen mother and son.
