Chapter 6 - Sunday at 5:00 PM
The black truck didn't just pull into the driveway; it roared in, tires skidding on the loose gravel before Mark slammed the brakes, stopping inches from the garage door.
Mark burst out of the cab, slamming the door so hard the truck rocked on its suspension. His face was thunderous, purple with fury, his polo shirt disheveled and untucked. He had driven three hours straight without stopping, stewing in an escalating cocktail of humiliation, wounded pride, and sheer disbelief.
""Denise!"" he roared, storming up the front walkway, his heavy footsteps pounding against the concrete. ""Denise, get out here right now!""
Denise stood inside the foyer, looking through the narrow glass sidelight beside the front door. Linda stood quietly behind her in the hallway, holding her smartphone, recording video through the window as Marcus Vance had strictly instructed.
Mark reached the porch, his hand automatically reaching into his pocket. He pulled out his key ring, selected his familiar brass house key, and shoved it aggressively toward the keyhole.
He stopped.
The old brass plate was gone. In its place was a gleaming, heavy brushed-nickel lock with an unfamiliar keyway.
Mark blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. He shoved his key into the slot anyway. It went in half an inch and seized up completely. He jiggled it violently. He forced it. He twisted with all his strength, grunting with exertion.
The key wouldn't turn a millimeter.
""What the..."" Mark muttered. He tried again, slamming the side of his fist against the solid oak wood. ""Denise! What is wrong with this damn lock?!""
Denise unlocked the inner security latch, opened the heavy door exactly three inches—leaving the heavy-duty brass security chain firmly engaged—and looked at him through the narrow gap.
""Hello, Mark.""
Mark stared at her through the opening, his mouth hanging open for a fraction of a second before his rage surged back tenfold. ""What is this?! Did you change the locks?! Have you lost your damn mind?! Open this door right now!""
""Your key does not fit this door, Mark,"" Denise said, her voice chillingly calm, polite, and completely devoid of fear. ""And it never will again.""
""Are you insane?!"" Mark shouted, grabbing the exterior door handle and yanking on it violently. The heavy oak door rattled against the steel strike plate, but the deadbolt didn't budge a fraction of an inch. ""This is my house! I live here! You can't lock me out of my own damn house! Open this door before I kick it off its hinges!""
""If you kick that door, Mark, you will be arrested for felony destruction of property and criminal trespassing,"" Denise replied smoothly. ""And you know as well as I do that this is not your house. It was Henry Parker's house. It was Helen Parker's house. And now, it is entirely Denise Parker's house. Your name is on nothing.""
""We are married, you stupid woman!"" Mark spat, saliva flying from his lips against the doorframe. ""Everything you have belongs to me! Half of this house is mine! I built that patio! I paid for those appliances!""
""You paid for appliances with joint funds that I earned as an accountant,"" Denise countered without blinking. ""And as for the patio, my attorney Mr. Vance has already documented that marital contribution. If the court decides I owe you reimbursement for a pile of bricks you used as an outdoor comedy club to humiliate your wife, I will gladly write you a check. But your residence in this home is officially terminated.""
Mark’s chest heaved. He looked past her into the foyer and saw the empty coat rack, the bare walls where his hunting prints used to hang, and the towering stack of moving boxes lined up in the hallway.
""Where is my stuff?!"" he screamed, his voice cracking with sudden panic. ""Where is my television?! Where are my clothes?!""
""Your belongings have been carefully packed, inventoried, and transported to SafeGuard Climate Storage on West State Street, Unit 412,"" Denise told him. ""A copy of the inventory list, the gate access code, and the unit key were handed to your lawyer twenty minutes ago via email. Your Silverado is parked in the driveway. Your golf clubs are in the back. I suggest you get into your truck and drive to a hotel before the Rockford police arrive to enforce the notice of termination you were served with yesterday morning.""
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""You can't do this to me!"" Mark bellowed, his voice carrying across the quiet street. Heads began to poke out of neighboring front doors. Mrs. Higgins across the street stood on her porch, holding her garden hose, staring directly at Mark. ""You're embarrassing me in front of the whole neighborhood! Stop this nonsense right now!""
""You loved an audience on my birthday, Mark,"" Denise whispered, looking him dead in the eye. ""Now you have one for yours.""
