Chapter 1 - The Face of the Enemy
The notepad hit the linoleum floor with a soft, hollow smack, but in the dead silence of our kitchen, it sounded like a gunshot.
Clara’s face lost whatever color the adrenaline had given her. She took a slow, trembling step backward, her arms tightening around baby Leo so fiercely he let out a confused whine. I followed her gaze out the window, past the police cruiser, past the grim-faced social workers, and past our mother, who was adjusting her designer sunglasses as if she were arriving at a luxury resort instead of the broken home she had created.
My eyes landed on the man.
He was in his late forties, wearing a tailored charcoal suit that probably cost more than our house. His silver hair was perfectly combed, his shoes gleamed in the afternoon sun, and his face was set in a mask of polite, arrogant boredom.
I didn't know him. But Clara did.
"Richard," Clara whispered. The name scraped out of her throat like shattered glass.
I grabbed Clara’s sleeve. "Who is that? Do you know him?"
Clara didn't look at me. Her eyes were locked on the man walking up our cracked concrete driveway. "He's Richard Sterling. He owns the diner where I work. He owns half the commercial real estate downtown."
My thirteen-year-old brain struggled to connect the dots. My mother, a woman who hadn't held a steady job in five years, had run off with a local millionaire. But why was Clara looking at him not just with shock, but with absolute, unadulterated terror?
The front door, which Chuck the mechanic had just started fixing, swung open. The social workers stepped in first, followed by the police officer. Finally, my mother stepped over the threshold, leaning heavily on Richard Sterling’s arm.
"Evelyn," Mrs. Higgins said, her voice dropping twenty degrees. "You have a lot of nerve showing your face in this neighborhood."
My mother ignored her completely. She looked around the cramped living room, her nose wrinkling at the sight of the worn couch, the scuffed walls, and the huddle of her own terrified children. She didn't look at Leo. She didn't look at the twins. She looked at Richard.
"See, darling?" she purred, patting her slightly rounded stomach. "I told you it was a dump. It's completely unlivable."
Richard stepped forward, his cold blue eyes scanning the room until they landed on my sister. A slick, predatory smile curled his lips. "Hello, Clara. You missed your shift last night. I had to dock your pay."
"What are you doing here?" Clara demanded, her voice shaking with a mixture of rage and fear. "You took her. You took our mother."
"I didn't take anyone, sweetheart," Richard said smoothly. "Evelyn came to me. And now, we're here for the property."
May you like
The taller social worker cleared her throat, holding up a fresh manila folder. "Miss Clara, your mother has returned and officially petitioned for custody. Furthermore, Mr. Sterling has purchased the deed to this house from your absentee father. He is the legal owner of this property. You have forty-eight hours to vacate."
The air in the room vanished. They hadn't come back to save us. They had come to throw us on the street.
