Chapter 8 - Packing the Lies
By two o'clock in the afternoon, the pristine, newly remodeled driveway of our family home looked less like a suburban paradise and more like a refugee camp. Two large black municipal utility trucks sat idling by the front gates, their hazard lights blinking rhythmically against the bright afternoon sky. Two county bailiffs stood watch near the front porch, their arms crossed, ensuring that no fixtures, appliances, or newly purchased luxury items left the premises. Everything stayed. The granite countertops, the leather furniture, the massive flat-screen TV, the auto shop equipment—it all belonged to the estate now, legally absorbed as restitution for the stolen funds.
Upstairs in the guest room, Phedra stood by the window, watching Selina and Godfrey frantically hurling their designer clothes into cheap plastic trash bags because their expensive luggage had already been logged and seized by the court officers.
"Are you sure about this, Damian?" Phedra asked softly, her hand resting on my arm as she looked down at the humiliating spectacle unfolding below. "Throwing them out... won't the town talk? Won't your family retaliate?"
"Let them talk," I said, wrapping my arm around her frail shoulders and pulling her close. "And as for retaliation, they don't have a legal leg to stand on. Every document is airtight. Every dollar is accounted for. Right now, your only job is getting better. I’ve already arranged for our transfer to a top-tier medical facility in the city tomorrow morning. No more sheds. No more scraps. No more hiding."
Phedra buried her face in my shoulder, a quiet, shuddering sob escaping her lips—not of sorrow, but of profound, long-overdue relief. For four years, she had endured a nightmare engineered by greed and cruelty. But the machine had broken down, and I had finally torn it apart to find every single rusted gear.
Downstairs, the front door slammed open, and Selina marched up the stairs, her face streaked with mascara and sweat, her hair an unkempt mess. She didn't dare cross the threshold of the guest room, but she leaned against the doorframe, glaring at us with venomous hatred.
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"You think you've won, Damian?" Selina spat out, her voice shaking with rage. "You think you can throw your own mother into the street for a woman who won't even be alive by next year? Karma is a bitch, and she's going to strip you down to nothing just like you did to us!"
I didn't even turn around to look at her. I simply reached out, clicked the bedroom door shut in her face, and threw the heavy brass deadbolt.
