Chapter 4 - The Boiling Point
Returning to the house on Elm Street felt entirely different now. Armed with the truth, Betty walked through the front door not as a defeated guest, but as an undercover operative in her own home.
The living room was loud. Susan’s father, Arthur, was barking orders at Jake about adjusting the television antenna while Eleanor complained about the draft coming from the hallway. Susan was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through her phone, her bare feet propped up on the antique coffee table Frank had restored by hand.
"Betty! Finally," Susan called out without looking up. "Can you run down to the grocery store? We’re out of almond milk, and Tommy refuses to eat his cereal with anything else. Here’s a twenty. Keep the change if you pick up those specific organic strawberries I like."
Betty stared at the twenty-dollar bill dangling from Susan’s manicured fingers. Two weeks ago, she would have taken it with a polite nod and rushed out the door. Now, she felt a profound wave of pity mixed with sheer disgust.
"No, Susan," Betty said calmly, closing the front door behind her.
Susan froze. She slowly lowered her phone, blinking in absolute disbelief. "Excuse me?"
"I said no," Betty repeated, walking past the sofa and heading toward the kitchen. "I am not your errand girl. And if you put your dirty feet on Frank’s coffee table one more time, you can find another place to put them."
The entire living room went dead silent. Arthur stopped fiddling with the television. Eleanor gasped, clutching her pearls. Jake dropped a stack of mail onto the side table, his eyes widening in horror as he looked at his mother.
"Mom?" Jake stammered, stepping forward. "What did you just say?"
Susan stood up slowly, her face flushing a mottled, angry red. "Are you losing your mind, Betty? In this house, we help each other out! My parents gave up their home to be here—"
"Your parents were evicted from their farmhouse because they couldn't pay their property taxes," Betty interrupted smoothly, turning to face them from the kitchen threshold. Her voice was ice-cold, carrying an authority that commanded the room. "Just like you’re about to be evicted from this house."
"What are you talking about?" Susan shrieked, her voice cracking. "Jake! Tell your mother to apologize right now, or packing boxes are going to look like a vacation compared to what I do next!"
Jake looked frantically between his wife and his mother, sweating profusely under his collar. "Mom, please... don't start trouble. Susan has been under a lot of stress with the move, and—"
"Save it, Jake," Betty said, pulling a folded legal document from her apron pocket and tossing it onto the dining table. "You might want to read that over with your lawyer. Marcus Vance sends his regards, by the way."
The color drained instantly from Jake’s face. He knew that name. Every old family in town knew Marcus Vance.
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"Marcus Vance?" Jake whispered, his voice trembling as he picked up the paper. "Mom... what did you do?"
"I just started auditing my own house," Betty said with a serene, terrifying smile. "Dinner is at six, everyone. Make sure you chew quietly. I’d hate for you to choke before the sheriff gets here."
