Braving The Storm

10 - Braving The Storm

I arrived the Irving mansion in Surrey Lane at twelve o'clock.

My palms were sweaty and my jeans started to feel uncomfortable. I hated that despite my effort to walk in quiet steps, my shoes echoed off the marble floors. Down a long hallway and through another one, I met with a woman in a suit.

“Hi, I'm Mary-Rose Philips.” I introduced, trying to sound formal. “Mr Joaquín Irving asked to see me.”

She nodded and turned around. Wait, no security checks? I thought that was rich people vibes.

Quietly, I followed her.

Joaquín Irving was the first son of the man who wanted to buy my house, and the family property lawyer. He wore expensive suit and hair gel and called me ma'am, like it was still the late 90s or something.

“You must understand that we have your interest at heart too, ma'am Philips.” He said, hovering near the massive wall paint behind his chair.

At first, I thought his office was a mini playground. It made Milton's office look like a janitor's closet. I cubed in my seat, as if touching anything would bewitch me. The Irvings were so wealthy, it frightened my mind.

“You must also understand, sir, that I'm doing my very best here.” I put out in a slightly imploring tone. I wasn't going to play a distressful underdog to foster sympathy. “Yes, your family needs property. I get that, I really do, but I also need a roof over my head. The state is reeling with locations that would be perfect for your project. It's absurd that out of all that you would want a house that's being occupied by someone who's trying to save her childhood too.”

Joaquín studied me. Behind his Harry Potter glasses, I doubted he knew any emotion. “Your point has been made, ma'am Philips, but this is a much bigger affair than you think. My family has legal claim over the land that house is built on. All that is left is to finalize and transfer ownership. We're not buying nor seizing the house from you, we're merely taking back what is ours.”

“Why won’t you let me pay to keep it?” I was on the verge of yelling.

“Your tax records show you are nonchalant toward housing bills. That is not the kind of attitude that earns you such a privilege. Besides, the state is reeling with locations that you might find comfortable to live in. You might as well find one before it is too late.”

“That wasn't the agreement.” I rose in disbelief and slight fear. “Milton said if I could clear my taxes before two months was up I'd keep the house. I was already working towards that. You people are the ones pushing things faster than I can run. Whether or not you have the means to take the house back, you could at least be human enough to let me try and prove that I can manage the bungalow. This is unfair!”

“When was life ever, ma'am Philips?”

I wanted to punch his stupid lawyer face in.

“Mr Cyrus Milton will deliver the legal documents to you before the end of today.”

“You're giving me a quick notice?” I fought back tears.

“A quicker notice. You have no more than eighteen hours to evacuate the bungalow. Demolition begins later. Have a good day, ma'am.”

I cried all the way home. I called up Marta and managed to tell her in a composed tone that I wouldn't be coming into work at all for the next week. She prodded to know what the problem was, and I just made stuff up so she wouldn't be worried.

My knees weakened the moment I plopped in the couch. I couldn't move a muscle, opting to sit and cry until every bit of strength in my bones leaked out. I was in a fit of hiccups when a familiar ring floated from the bedroom hallway. I hadn't heard that sound since my mother first accepted my admission into high school.