Chapter 4 - The House of CardsBy Monday morning, Mason’s fever had completely broken, and Olivia’s hydration levels were restored. The doctor cleared them both for discharge, but under no circumstances was I bringing them back to our house until the trash had been fully cleared away.
I had arranged for Olivia and Mason to stay at a high-end luxury resort hotel near Grapevine, complete with round-the-clock room service, a private nurse I hired for Mason, and twenty-four-hour private security outside their suite door.
When I pulled up to my suburban home at 10:00 AM, the backyard looked like the site of a natural disaster.
The linen tablecloths were stained with dried wine and grease. Dozens of silver platters, half-eaten lobster tails, and empty champagne bottles were scattered across the grass, rotting in the seventy-degree Texas sun. Flies swarmed over the banquet tables.
Inside the house, the front door was unlocked.
I walked into the foyer to find my mother frantically stuffing expensive designer handbags, silk dresses, and silver jewelry into three large leather suitcases laid out across the living room rug. Her silk emerald dress from Friday was rumpled and dirty, her hair a chaotic, unwashed nest.
Standing near the stairs was my Uncle Raymond, his arms crossed over his chest, looking down at her with pure disgust.
"Where are you going, Mom?" I asked, shutting the heavy oak front door behind me.
Linda spun around, dropping a leather purse onto the floor. When she saw me, her face contorted into a hideous mask of frantic, hysterical rage.
"You monster!" she screamed, charging toward me with her hands clawed like talons. "You malicious, ungrateful little monster! You destroyed my reputation! Everyone knows! Susan called the entire family! They think I’m a thief! They think I abused your wife!"
I didn't even flinch. I caught her wrists easily in mid-air, holding her three feet away from me. My civil engineering background meant my hands were used to handling heavy machinery and concrete steel; her frantic, weak flailing meant nothing to me.
"You are a thief, Linda," Uncle Raymond said from the stairs, his voice heavy with deep, bitter shame. "Ethan showed me the bank statements yesterday while you were upstairs locking your door from the deputies. You told me Ethan was paying for my daughter’s college tuition out of the kindness of his heart! You took fifty thousand dollars from him under my daughter’s name and spent it at the casino!"
"Raymond, shut up!" Linda shrieked, twisting her head around to glare at her brother. "I am your sister! You take my side! Family sticks together!"
"Family doesn't starve a mother and leave a twelve-month-old baby to burn with a fever while throwing a party for people who don't even like them!" Raymond barked back. "I’m done with you, Linda. The whole family is done with you."
Raymond grabbed his jacket from the railing, looked at me with a pained, apologetic expression, and walked straight out the front door, slamming it behind him.
Linda stood in the center of the grand living room, her chest heaving, realizing for the first time in her life that she was entirely, completely alone. Her siblings had abandoned her. Her friends had blocked her number. Her son was standing before her, looking not like her obedient boy, but like a judge preparing to deliver a sentence.
"Ethan..." she whimpered, her tone suddenly shifting into a sickly sweet, desperate whine. She fell to her knees on the Persian rug, reaching out to grasp the hem of my jeans. "Ethan, baby... please. I’m your mother. I brought you into this world! I sacrificed everything for you after your father died! I made mistakes... I have a gambling sickness! You have to help me!"
"I tried to help you for three years, Mom," I said, looking down at her without a single trace of emotion. "I sent you five thousand dollars a month. I bought you a car. I gave you a home. And in return, you tried to steal my house, you emotionally tortured my wife, and you nearly let my son die of sepsis."
"I didn't know he was that sick!" she sobbed, squeezing her eyes shut. "I swear I didn't know!"
"You didn't care," I corrected her.
I pulled a thick Manila envelope from my jacket and tossed it onto the rug in front of her.
"What... what is this?" she whispered, staring at the paper.
"That is an emergency eviction order issued by the Dallas County Civil Court," I said. "You have thirty minutes to take those three suitcases and step off my property. If you are still on this lot at ten-thirty, the sheriff’s deputies sitting down the street will arrest you for felony criminal trespass."
"Thirty minutes?!" she screamed, jumping up. "This is my home!"
"This is my home," I said, stepping closer, my voice dropping into a register that made her shrink back. "And if you ever set foot on this street again, if you ever try to contact Olivia, or if you ever say my son’s name again, the private investigator I hired will release the video footage of you slapping Olivia across the face in the nursery last Tuesday to every local news station in North Texas."
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Linda gasped, her face going completely ghost-white. "You... you have video of that?"
"I have video of everything, Linda," I said, pointing to the invisible camera lenses hidden in the ceiling beams. "Now pack your bags. Your time is up."
