Paying three hundred thousand dollars of debt before being ordered out of the house
“It was a lot of square footage,” I said.
“Are the movers taking the sideboard too?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “The antique dealer from Cary Street is picking that up at ten.”
“They paid a fair price for it,” Brenda said, making a small notation on her sheet.
“It was the price we agreed on,” I said.
The shorter mover came back inside, carrying a roll of grey packing tape and a stack of flattened cardboard boxes.
“Do you want the light fixtures in the hall boxed, or do they stay with the property?” he asked.
“They stay,” I said. “Everything attached to the ceiling remains.”
He nodded and walked back toward the front door, the tape dispenser clicking as he pulled a fresh strip.
Brenda checked her watch, a silver band that caught the morning light from the window.
“I need to drop off the utility transfer forms at the municipal office on Broad Street,” she said. “Will you be here when the antique dealer arrives?”
“I will,” I said.
“I will see you at the attorney’s office at five for the signature exchange,” she said, turning toward the door.
