Chapter 5 - The Notice of Default
The next morning, the illusion of domestic harmony was shattered beyond repair. At exactly 8:30 AM, a loud knock echoed through the house, followed by the heavy, official-sounding tread of a process server on the front porch.
Susan, dressed in a silk robe with a coffee mug in hand, flung the door open, ready to unleash a tirade on whoever dared disturb her morning. Instead, she found a tall man in a dark jacket holding a clipboard and a thick stack of legal envelopes.
"Susan Morrison?" the man asked flatly.
"Yes? Who are you?"
"You’ve been served," the server said, thrusting the papers into her chest before turning and walking down the front steps.
Within seconds, shrieks echoed down the hallway. Susan marched into the kitchen where Betty was quietly pouring herself a cup of freshly brewed coffee—using her own favorite mug that she had covertly rescued from the packing boxes the night before.
"What is this?!" Susan slammed the thick packet of legal documents onto the kitchen island, spilling coffee across the quartz countertop. "A lawsuit? Are you out of your absolute tree, Betty? You’re suing us?"
Jake stumbled into the kitchen behind her, his hair disheveled, his eyes bloodshot from a sleepless night. He grabbed the papers, his hands shaking violently as he scanned the legal jargon.
"A notice of default," Jake whispered, his voice cracking. "A partition sale... Mom, you can't do this! If the bank forecloses on the HELOC and forces a partition sale, we’ll lose everything! The equity, the house—we’ll be broke!"
"We?" Betty raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of her coffee. "There is no we, Jake. There’s you, your gold-digging wife, her freeloading parents, and me—the sole legal owner of the primary homestead rights who never signed a single authorization for your fraudulent loan."
Eleanor and Arthur shuffled into the kitchen at that moment, sensing the chaos. "What's going on?" Eleanor demanded, leaning heavily on her aluminum walker. "Why is everyone shouting? I need my morning tranquility!"
"Your daughter and her spineless husband committed felony mortgage fraud by forging my signature," Betty announced loud and clear for the entire household to hear. "And by the end of the week, this house is going on the open market."
Susan lunged forward, her face twisted in pure, unadulterated rage, her hand raised as if to strike Betty across the face. "You selfish, miserable old hag! We took care of you! We gave you a family!"
Betty didn't flinch. She set her coffee mug down with a sharp clack, her eyes locking onto Susan’s with a predator’s cold focus. She reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, and tapped the screen, holding up the active recording app.
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"Go ahead, Susan," Betty whispered, a dangerous smile playing on her lips. "Hit me. Assault charges combined with mortgage fraud and elder abuse ought to keep you behind bars until Tommy graduates college."
Susan’s hand stopped mid-air. Her chest heaved as she stared at the glowing red recording dot on the screen. Slowly, she lowered her arm, trembling with impotent fury.
