Chapter 8 - The Movers Arrive
Marcus signaled to the appraiser, who immediately began walking through the ground floor with a digital measuring laser.
The rhythmic red dot danced across the walls, across the dining table, and across the framed portraits of Wesley and Miriam.
Outside in the driveway, the headlights of a large moving van illuminated the front lawn through the bay windows.
Two burly men in matching navy jackets walked up the front steps, carrying empty wardrobe boxes and packing tape.
"What is this?" Miriam shrieked, backing into the living room as the men stepped inside.
"I hired professional packers to clear out my personal heirlooms, my art collection, and the bedroom furniture," I said.
"The movers will be working through the night to ensure everything belonging to me is safely in transit to my new home."
Wesley grabbed my arm as I turned toward the doorway, his fingers digging into the wool of my sleeve.
"You planned this from the very beginning. You knew every step we were going to take before we took it."
I looked down at his hand until he felt the chill in my stare and pulled his fingers away.
"A hospital administrator manages crises for five hundred beds every single day, Wesley," I whispered.
"Did you honestly think you and your mother could outmaneuver someone who audits surgical budgets for a living?"
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"You underestimated me because I cooked your dinners and washed your shirts," I said, stepping onto the porch.
"That was your biggest mistake."
