Chapter 5 - The Fourth Week Begins
The fourth week arrived with a sharp drop in temperature, the first true breath of autumn sweeping down the streets and turning the maple leaves crisp and golden. It was a Monday morning, exactly twenty-eight days since the unicorn cake incident.
I dropped Sophie off at school, watching her skip through the double doors with her pink backpack bouncing against her shoulders, before driving straight to the county courthouse downtown.
The clerk’s office was busy, filled with lawyers holding briefcases and stressed citizens filing paperwork. I walked up to counter four, where a middle-aged clerk with tired eyes and a silver nametag looked up at me.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here to file a motion for immediate execution of trust reversion and asset freeze under Probate Code Section 44-B,” I said, sliding the thick manila envelope across the counter.
The clerk took the papers, opened the top folder, and scanned the caption. Her eyebrows slowly rose toward her hairline as she read the names: Estate of Eleanor Vance vs. Robert Vance and Denise Harper-Vance. She looked up at me, her expression shifting from bored indifference to sharp professional curiosity.
“You’re the petitioner?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve attached the certified affidavits regarding the fraudulent beneficiary waiver?”
“Every single one. Certified by the state forensic handwriting analyst, along with the original bank routing records showing the unapproved mortgage encumbrance.”
The clerk tapped the papers against the counter to align them, stamped the top page with a heavy red ink stamp that read FILED, and handed me the duplicate copy. “You’ll need to serve the respondents. Since this involves a real estate freeze and an emergency writ of possession, the sheriff’s department will execute the notice within twenty-four hours. Are you requesting immediate physical removal or a standard seventy-two-hour notice?”
I thought about my father standing in his kitchen, holding his phone horizontally while his wife dumped a little girl’s birthday cake into the trash. I thought about the smug smile Denise wore when she declared, “Only my kids get parties here.”
“Let’s go with the seventy-two-hour notice,” I said softly. “Give them time to pack their things. I wouldn’t want them to feel rushed.”
The clerk gave me a knowing, razor-thin smile. “Noted. The processing fee is twenty-four dollars.”
May you like
I paid, took my receipt, and walked out of the courthouse into the crisp morning air. The sun was shining brightly overhead, warming my face. I pulled out my phone, checked my emails, and settled in for the wait.
It didn't take long.
