Chapter 5 - The Eviction Notice
Monday morning arrived with a gray, steady drizzle typical of an Oregon autumn, but inside Kaleth Robotics, the atmosphere was hyper-focused and productive. I spent the morning reviewing the final engineering sign-offs for our new manufacturing plant. By noon, I had cleared my desk and made a phone call that I had put off for far too long.
I called my personal real estate attorney.
“Good afternoon, Vanessa,” Richard said when he picked up on the second ring. “What can I do for you today?”
“Richard, I need you to draw up an official notice of lease termination and non-renewal for the residential property on Larkspur Lane,” I instructed, pulling up the digital deed on my monitor. “The current occupants have been residing there under a verbal, rent-free grace period that is formally being revoked effective immediately.”
“Understood,” Richard said professionally, typing on his end. “Do you want to give them thirty days?”
“Give them sixty days to vacate the premises,” I replied. “And have your office attach a formal accounting statement showing that all property taxes, structural repairs, and utility subsidies provided over the past three years total roughly eighty-four thousand dollars. Make sure they understand that while I am waiving back-rent, I expect the property to be returned in pristine condition.”
“Will do, Vanessa. I’ll draft the papers this afternoon and have a process server deliver them directly to the door.”
Two days later, the text messages started rolling in.
It began with a frantic, all-caps message from my father. VANESSA, WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON? COLTON SAYS A PROCESS SERVER JUST SERVED HIM WITH AN EVICTION NOTICE FOR HIS HOUSE!
A minute later, my mother’s number called my phone twice in a row. I let it ring out to voicemail.
Then came a desperate text from Colton himself. Vane, please pick up. The landlord says we have to move out in sixty days. They’re claiming we owe thousands in back expenses. We have nowhere to go. Please talk to your friend—tell him to give us more time!
I looked at my phone screen, sitting in the quiet comfort of my Portland condo, sipping a cup of hot herbal tea.
I unlocked my phone, opened our family group chat—the very same chat where my mother had posted a laughing emoji in response to my banishment from their barbecue—and finally typed out my response.
“There is no landlord, Colton,” I wrote back. “I bought the house on Larkspur Lane three years ago. I paid the taxes, I fixed the roof, and I paid the plumber every single time you flushed something stupid down the drain. You’ve been living in my house for free.”
The typing indicator beneath my mother’s name immediately lit up. It flashed, disappeared, reappeared, and flashed again for nearly two full minutes.
May you like
No words came back. No excuses, no defensive jabs, and certainly no laughing emojis.
I muted the group chat, turned the phone face down on the wooden coffee table, and walked over to the window to watch the rain fall over the city lights. For the first time in my life, the silence in the room didn't feel lonely at all. It felt entirely like mine.
