Chapter 3 - The Tax Man Comes Calling
While I was sitting in the JAG office reviewing restraining order paperwork, seventy miles away in Harnett County, my father was sitting at his kitchen table staring at a bright yellow envelope.
The envelope bore the official seal of the Harnett County Tax Administration.
Inside was a final delinquent tax notice totaling $3,542.18, with a prominent red stamp across the header: FORECLOSURE PROCEEDING COMMENCING IN THIRTY DAYS.
My mother, Brenda, stood near the stove, nervously chewing on the corner of a kitchen towel.
"Did the military police arrest her, Frank?" Brenda asked, her voice trembling with anxious desperation. "Is she in the brig?"
Frank Cook slammed his fist onto the laminate countertop, rattling the half-empty coffee mugs.
"No, she isn't in the damn brig!" Frank roared, his face turning an unhealthy shade of purple. "The police called me at six in the morning warning me that if I called 911 on her again, they'd issue a warrant for my arrest! The little snake recorded us on her phone!"
Immani walked into the kitchen wearing silk pajamas, holding her iPhone out in front of her as she checked her social media notifications.
"Well, did she send the thirty-five hundred or not?" Immani asked, popping her bubblegum without even looking at our parents. "Because my followers are expecting me to film an unboxing video today, and the Wi-Fi is still completely dead. I had to use my mobile hotspot, and my data is almost gone."
"No, she didn't send it, Immani!" Frank snapped, glaring at his younger daughter. "She blocked all our numbers! Every single one of them!"
"Well, unblock her from a burner phone and make her pay!" Immani whined, stomping her foot like a spoiled toddler. "You promised me this house, Dad! You said all I had to do was focus on my social media career and the house would be mine free and clear! How can I inherit a house if the county takes it away?"
Brenda hurried over, wrapping her arms around Immani's shoulders in a protective hug.
"Don't yell at your sister, Frank! Immani is delicate! You know stress gives her terrible migraines!" Brenda cried, turning her glare toward her husband. "This is Molly's fault! Molly has thousands of dollars sitting in her military savings account! She owes us that money for raising her!"
"Well, she isn't giving it up voluntarily," Frank growled, his eyes narrowing with a cunning, desperate look. "She thinks because she's hiding behind the gates of Fort Liberty, I can't touch her."
Frank picked up his car keys and grabbed his faded veteran ballcap from the coat rack by the door.
"Where are you going, Frank?" Brenda asked, alarmed.
"I'm going to see David Sterling down at the county courthouse," Frank said, a cruel grin spreading across his thin lips. "David owes me a favor from when we worked road maintenance together. I'm going to take out a formal civil lien against Molly's military pay for breach of verbal contract."
"Can you do that?" Immani asked, momentarily looking up from her screen.
"I can file whatever paperwork I want," Frank spat, opening the screen door with a violent shove. "Once the court serves her commanding officer with a wage garnishment petition, the Army will force her to settle to avoid a scandal. She'll pay every dime of that thirty-five hundred, plus my legal fees, or she won't have a career left to hide behind."
The screen door banged shut behind him, the old pickup truck coughing to life in the dirt driveway.
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None of them noticed the certified mail carrier walking up the gravel path, holding three registered legal envelopes bearing the official seal of the United States Armed Forces Legal Services Agency.
The battle lines had been drawn, and my family was about to discover that a military officer’s response to blackmail is never surrender.
