Chapter 1 - The Side Gate
The tablet chimed again.
BACKYARD MOTION DETECTED.
On the security feed, the moving-truck driver reached for the latch on my side gate.
I pressed the intercom button immediately.
“Sir, please stop.”
The driver froze.
He looked up toward the camera.
“This is the homeowner.”
I said.
“You do not have permission to enter this property or unload anything here.”
Behind him, my mother shouted from the driveway.
“She’s upset.”
“She’ll calm down.”
“Keep moving.”
The driver glanced from the camera to my mother.
Then he stepped backward.
“Ma’am, whose name is on the work order?”
He asked.
Mother lifted her clipboard.
“Mine.”
“And whose house is this?”
Mother hesitated.
That hesitation was all he needed.
The driver walked back toward the truck.
“We’re not entering private property without the homeowner’s approval.”
Brianna slammed her palm against my front door again.
“AUDREY!”
I didn’t move.
“Open the door.”
“No.”
“You’re making a scene.”
I looked at the three SUVs.
Two moving trucks.
Boxes stacked along my driveway.
Four women arguing beneath my security cameras.
“I’m not the one who brought two moving trucks to somebody else’s house.”
Chloe stepped toward the porch.
Her face was red.
“I already changed my business address.”
I stared at the camera feed.
“You did what?”
“For the candle company.”
“You registered my address?”
“Mom said it was fine.”
I closed my eyes for one second.
Of course she had.
Madison was standing behind Chloe now.
She looked less angry than scared.
“My bank statements are coming here too.”
I slowly set my coffee down.
“Why?”
“Because Mom said we needed proof of residence.”
There it was.
Proof of residence.
The phrase landed differently than everything else.
This was no longer just about bedrooms.
They had begun establishing my house as their legal address.
I turned on the porch microphone.
“None of you live here.”
Mother stepped closer to the camera.
“Not yet.”
The confidence in her voice told me she had planned something beyond furniture.
Then the second moving-truck driver opened his door.
He carried a folder toward my mother.
She signed something.
I zoomed the camera.
At the top of the page were three words large enough for me to read.
PERMANENT RESIDENTIAL MOVE.
My phone buzzed.
An email had arrived from my attorney.
I had contacted him three days earlier after discovering Madison’s suitcase.
His message contained only one sentence.
May you like
Audrey, call me immediately.
They may be trying to establish tenancy.
