Chapter 3 - The Empty Space on Lake Minnetonka
The yellow flashing lights of the flatbed truck reflected against the polished windows of my parents' mansion.
Two burly men in work boots stepped down, completely indifferent to my mother's shrieking demands that they leave private property immediately.
"Ma'am, we have a court-ordered repossession writ signed by Judge Henderson," the driver said, holding out a laminated clipboard. "Touch that winch and you're interfering with a judicial seizure."
Delaney collapsed onto the porch steps, burying her face in her hands while her new Mercedes was dragged onto the steel bed with a metallic whine that scraped across everyone's nerves.
One by one, the remaining party guests made awkward excuses, scattering toward their vehicles like mice fleeing a burning barn.
Within twenty minutes, only the four of us remained in the expansive front yard: Dad, Mom, Delaney, and me.
Dad loosened his silk tie, his chest heaving as if he had just run a marathon. He walked over to me, stopping only inches from my chest, his face contorted with bitter resentment.
"You're dead to this family, Everett," Dad whispered, his voice trembling with venomous rage. "Do you hear me? Not a single cent of what I build will ever reach your hands. You'll die in a rented apartment playing scales for bratty children."
"I never asked for your money, Dad," I replied, meeting his bloodshot eyes without blinking. "All I wanted was what Grandma promised me. Where is the piano?"
"Go find it yourself," Dad spat, turning on his heel toward the front door. "Victor Vance sold it to an anonymous collector the same afternoon I brought it in. It's probably on a cargo plane to Europe by now. You'll never see that wooden junk again."
He slammed the massive front door so hard that the brass knocker rattled against the wood. Mom followed him inside without looking at me, her head held in a posture of brittle defiance.
Delaney looked up from the steps, her mascara smeared across her cheeks. "I hope you're happy, Everett. You destroyed my relationship with Ryder. Hugh Ashb is going to pull his business, and Dad is going to lose the firm."
"Dad didn't lose his firm because of me, Delaney," I said softly, looking down at her. "He lost it because he thought honesty was optional as long as people were impressed."
I walked to my beat-up Subaru parked down the block, leaving her alone on the steps.
My hands were shaking on the steering wheel as I turned the ignition. The victory felt hollow, cold, and exhausting. Getting the car impounded didn't bring back the instrument that held twenty-five years of my life's music.
I drove straight to Grandma's house on Lake Minnetonka.
The cottage was dark, shrouded in the cold October mist rolling off the lake. I unlocked the front door and walked inside, smelling the faint traces of lavender and lemon polish that still lingered in the empty rooms.
In the living room, the bare patch of floor beneath the tall windows looked like a fresh wound.
I sat down on the floor where the piano bench used to be, resting my back against the wall.
I remembered sitting here on snowy December evenings while Grandma played Chopin nocturnes, her delicate hands gliding effortlessly across the ivory keys.
She had bought that piano in 1952 with money she earned working double shifts as a telephone operator. When my grandfather died young, leaving her with a young Calvin to raise alone, that instrument was the only thing that kept her sane.
"Music isn't an ornament, Everett," she had told me when I was struggling through my conservatory auditions. "It's the only language that tells the truth when words fail."
Now, her son had pawned that truth for chrome wheels and country club applause.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from Miles Wexler.
May you like
I obtained Victor Vance's private ledger through a subpoena. The piano was not shipped to Europe. It was sold to a private buyer right here in Minneapolis. Meet me at my office tomorrow at 7:00 AM.
A small ember of hope sparked in my chest. The fight wasn't over yet.
