Paying three hundred thousand dollars of debt before being ordered out of the house
The return address was from the county circuit court clerk’s office on Main Street.
Inside was a single certified copy of the final property restoration order, stamped with the red seal of the commonwealth.
I placed the document into my blue folder, sliding it behind the bank statements and the corporate transfer papers.
The antique dealer’s truck arrived exactly at ten, the engine loud in the driveway.
Two older men in green aprons came up the steps, carrying a heavy moving blanket.
“This the sideboard?” the first one asked, pointing to the mahogany piece against the wall.
“Yes,” I said. “The keys to the drawers are inside the top left compartment.”
He pulled open the drawer, took out the small brass keys, and tested the lock twice.
“Works fine,” he said. “We will have this loaded in ten minutes.”
I watched them wrap the mahogany in the heavy grey blanket, securing it with thick rubber bands.
They carried it out between them, their steps slow and heavy on the wooden floor.
When they were gone, the house felt even larger, the empty walls reflecting the sound of the wind in the oak trees outside.
