Chapter 5 - The Wall She Wanted to Break
On January eighteenth, Eleanor returned home from her weekly volunteer shift at the public library to find an unfamiliar white pickup truck parked in her driveway.
The tailgate was down, revealing toolboxes, sledgehammers, and rolls of heavy brown floor-protection paper. The front door of her house stood wide open to the freezing winter air.
Eleanor’s pulse surged, but she took three deep, steadying breaths before switching off the engine. She took her phone out, dialed the local precinct's non-emergency line, and had the dispatcher on hold as she walked up the stone pathway.
Inside, the living room smelled of cold plaster and unfamiliar men's cologne. Standing near the dining room archway were two men in work boots and canvas jackets, alongside Harper, who was holding a clipboard.
"Yeah, right here," Harper was saying, pointing to the load-bearing wall that separated the kitchen from the formal dining room—the very wall David had carefully reinforced with hand-hewn oak beams when they remodeled in 1998. "We want this completely taken out. Open concept. If we start demo today, we can get the framing inspected by next week."
"Excuse me," Eleanor said.
The contractors turned. Harper didn't even look startled; she looked defiant, her chin lifted in a belligerent sneer.
"Eleanor," Harper said dismissively. "Don't cause a scene. Liam and I talked. We’re not leaving. The rental market is ridiculous right now, and Liam hasn't secured his bonus yet. If we're going to stay here through the spring, we need this space modernized. It’s an investment in the home."
Eleanor looked at the older contractor, a burly man with graying stubble and a measuring tape clipped to his belt. "Sir, who hired you?"
"Uh, Mrs. Powell here," the man said, gesturing toward Harper. "Gave us a five-hundred-dollar deposit for the initial demo assessment."
"I am Mrs. Powell," Eleanor said, her voice dropping into a register of icy authority. "I am the sole owner of this deed. The woman standing beside you is an unlawful occupant currently subject to a formal notice to vacate. If your boot touches a single inch of my drywall, I will have you arrested for criminal destruction of property."
The contractor blinked, looked at Harper, and then looked at the polished hardwood floors. "Ma'am, you told me on the phone this was an inheritance handover."
"It is!" Harper snapped, her voice trembling with hysteria. "It's my husband's house! He's the only son!"
"Do you have a deed with his name on it?" the contractor asked, his tone flat and suddenly guarded.
"He's at work! He can sign whatever you need!"
"We're leaving," the contractor said, turning to his assistant. "Pack the truck, Mike. Lady, you can kiss that deposit goodbye for wasting my afternoon."
"You can't leave!" Harper screamed, chasing them toward the door. "We have a verbal agreement! You promised!"
The men hurried out, pulling the door shut behind them.
Harper spun around, her eyes wild, her chest heaving. "You are an evil, bitter old hag! You're ruining our lives! Liam has nothing because of you! Nothing!"
May you like
Eleanor stood her ground in the center of the foyer. She didn't flinch. "Liam has an able body, an expensive university education paid for in full by his father, and thirty days to grow a backbone. Go pack your bags, Harper. The clock is down to twelve days."
***
