Chapter 3 - The Gathering Storm
Friday afternoon was supposed to be Derek's triumph, a victory lap celebrating his newest unearned acquisition.
At three o'clock, his leased black BMW pulled into the driveway of 412 Maple Ridge Lane, followed closely by my parents' silver Buick sedan.
In the backseat of Derek's car sat four massive speakers, a gaming console, and several garment bags of designer clothes.
Derek stepped out onto the asphalt, wearing expensive sunglasses, humming a tune as he stretched his arms.
"Look at this place, Mom," he said, gesturing toward the brick facade.
"The neighborhood alone will make the investors take my new lifestyle brand seriously. You can't run a luxury consultancy from a rental."
My mother smiled proudly as she stepped out of the passenger side, carrying a basket of homemade blueberry muffins.
"Your father and I always knew you had high standards, sweetheart," she said, smoothing down her knit cardigan.
"Emma was always so narrow-minded. She never understood the power of presenting success to the world."
My father walked up the stone steps toward the front porch, reaching down toward the terracotta flowerpot beside the door.
He lifted the pot, ran his hand through the potting soil, and frowned.
"There's no key here."
Derek walked up the steps, his brow furrowing with irritation.
"She probably left it under the welcome mat. Check the mat."
My father lifted the heavy coir mat, revealing bare, clean concrete.
"Nothing. Did she leave the back patio unlocked?"
Derek trotted around the side of the house, whistling impatiently, and stepped onto the rear deck.
He pulled on the handle of the sliding glass patio doors, finding them locked tight with a heavy security bar dropped into the lower track.
He cupped his hands around his face, pressing his sunglasses against the tinted glass to peer inside.
His jaw dropped open.
"What the hell?" Derek choked out, stepping back as if he had seen a phantom.
My parents hurried around the deck railing, out of breath.
"What is it, Derek?" my mother asked, panting slightly.
"Look inside!" Derek yelled, his voice cracking with sudden rage.
"She took everything! The furniture, the rugs, the TV, even the barstools! The whole place is empty!"
My father pressed his nose against the glass, his eyes wide in disbelief as he stared into the cavernous, hollow living room.
The walls were bare, the floors were stripped, and the only item visible was a single piece of paper pinned to the kitchen island.
"That ungrateful little brat!" my father roared, rattling the glass door violently until the frame groaned.
"She stripped the house out of spite! Where is Derek supposed to sleep tomorrow night?"
My mother whipped out her smartphone, her fingers trembling as she aggressively punched my number into the keypad.
The call went through, ringing four times before clicking directly into my personalized voicemail.
"Emma Davis! Pick up this telephone right now!" my mother shrieked into the microphone.
"Your brother is standing outside in the cold! You bring those keys back immediately, or your father will drive down to your hospital and have your supervisor pull you off the floor!"
Five miles away, inside the quiet lobby of the downtown Marriott, I silenced my phone and dropped it into my purse.
I took a slow sip of my hot peppermint tea, watching the rain begin to fall over the city streets.
May you like
They thought the missing furniture was the problem.
They had no idea the real storm was arriving tomorrow morning with the sunrise.
