Chapter 5 - The Weight of the Keys
The county jail's intake facility was located in the basement of the old municipal building, down a flight of concrete stairs that smelled of industrial disinfectant and stale floor wax. I didn't have to go down there, but Franklin had needed me to sign the formal receivership authorizations before the clerk's office closed for the evening.
As we walked out past the glass partition of the visitor's center, I saw my father, Arthur, sitting on a wooden bench with his head in his hands. He hadn't been in court; he had stayed home at the Elmhurst house to watch Brittany’s three children while the legal battle took place. He looked older than his sixty-eight years, his flannel shirt wrinkled, his shoes covered in a fine layer of dust from the gravel driveway.
When he saw me, he stood up, his joints popping audibly in the quiet corridor. "Mara," he said, his voice hesitant, carrying none of the booming anger he had used on the phone three days ago. "They won't let me see them. The deputy said they're being held until a formal arraignment tomorrow morning. Is it true? Is the house gone?"
"The house is being sold, Dad," I said, stopping five feet away from him. I didn't want to get any closer. The scent of his cigarette smoke and old coffee reminded me too much of the kitchen I had been barred from entering. "It’s the only way to clear the title after what Mom and Brittany did."
"They were just trying to keep the family afloat, honey," Arthur muttered, his eyes drifting toward the floor. "Shane's business was hit hard by the supply chain issues. We were just trying to help Brittany’s kids have a normal Christmas. You’ve always been the successful one, Mara. You don't know what it’s like to worry about the electric bill."
"I don't know what it’s like?" I let out a short, sharp laugh that felt like a needle in my throat. "Dad, I spent three years living on instant noodles and working ninety hours a week to save the down payment for my own place. When I adopted Ruby, I didn't ask you for a single dime. I paid my share of the Elmhurst taxes every single January because Mom told me it was my duty to support the legacy. And all the while, she was using my identity to fund a lifestyle Brittany couldn't afford."
"We didn't mean to leave Ruby out in the car, Mara," he said, his voice dropping into a desperate, pleading register. "Your mother was just stressed from the tremor. The house has that big crack in the foundation, and she was terrified the whole thing was going to fall. She wasn't thinking straight."
"She was thinking clearly enough to say the quiet part out loud, Dad," I said, stepping past him toward the heavy glass exit doors. "She said 'not that child.' She didn't say there wasn't space. She said there wasn't space for her. Ruby is five years old, and she spent her first years in a state facility being told she didn't belong anywhere. I am never, ever going to let anyone make her feel that way again. Especially not people who carry her last name."
"Mara, please," he called after me, his voice echoing off the concrete blocks. "Where are we supposed to go when the receivers take the keys?"
"Ask Shane," I said, without looking back. "He’s the one with the jet skis."
The doors pushed open into the cool, dark evening air. The streetlights were flickering on across the square, casting long, skeletal shadows through the bare maple trees. Franklin walked beside me to my car, her leather briefcase slung over her shoulder like a soldier's pack.
"The receivers will post the notice on the Elmhurst door at 8:00 AM tomorrow," Franklin said as I unlocked the driver's side. "They have fourteen days to vacate the premises before the automated eviction protocol begins. I’ve already contacted an appraiser who specializes in expedited partition sales. We should have the first distribution within forty-five days."
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"Thank you, Franklin," I said, leaning my head against the cool glass of the car window.
"Go home to your girl, Mara," she said gently, her professional armor softening for a brief second as she reached out to pat my arm. "The hard part is over. The law has the wheel now."
