Chapter 5 - The War of AttritionBy Wednesday morning, the house was a warzone.
Eric hadn't gone to work in two days. His phone was ringing off the hook—clients calling to ask why his marketing firm’s corporate accounts had been flagged for legal hold, vendors demanding payment for campaign ads he had authorized, and his business partner sending furious text messages threatening to sue him for breach of fiduciary duty.
I returned to the house at 6:00 p.m. after spending the afternoon at my bank finalizing the wire transfer details for the sale.
When I opened the front door, the stench hit me instantly.
Diane had intentionally turned off the main circuit breaker for the kitchen, causing the contents of my industrial refrigerator—hundreds of dollars of organic produce, aged steaks, and wine—to spoil in the summer heat. The living room rug, a $12,000 hand-woven Persian antique, was covered in spilled wine and torn baby clothing.
Diane sat on the sofa, her arms folded, a cruel, triumphant grin on her face.
“Oops,” Diane said mockingly as I walked in. “Accidents happen. Good luck selling a house that smells like rotten meat and sour wine, you ungrateful little bitch.”
Madison was sitting beside her, eating potato chips straight from the bag, tossing the greasy crumbs directly onto the sofa cushions.
“You thought you could kick us out?” Madison sneered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Eric called a tenant rights lawyer today. He said since I’m pregnant and I’ve lived here for three weeks, you can't kick me out without a six-month court battle! We’re not going anywhere, Clara.”
I looked at the spoiled food. I looked at the ruined rug.
Then I pulled my phone from my bag and dialed a three-digit number on speakerphone.
“City Utility Services, how can I direct your call?” a voice chirped.
“Hello,” I said clearly, looking directly into Diane’s eyes. “My name is Clara Vance. I am the sole account holder for 412 Elmcrest Lane. I would like to request an immediate voluntary shut-off for electricity, water, gas, and internet services effective at 8:00 p.m. tonight.”
Diane’s smile vanished instantly. She scrambled off the couch. “WHAT?!”
“Ma'am, are you sure?” the customer service representative asked. “There is a re-connection fee if—”
“I am completely sure,” I said smoothly. “I am selling the property and the home will be unoccupied.”
“Stop her! Eric, come down here!” Diane screamed at the top of her lungs, rushing toward the stairs. “She’s shutting off the power!”
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Madison dropped her bag of chips, her eyes wide with horror. “Wait! You can't shut off the air conditioning! It’s ninety-five degrees outside! I’m pregnant!”
“Then I suggest you pack your bags before eight o'clock,” I said, turning on my heel and heading back toward the front door. “Because when the sun goes down, it’s going to get very dark, very hot, and very quiet in here.”
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