Chapter 5 - The Squatters in Disguise
When Helen’s sedan pulled up to the curb of 114 Oak Street, my stomach dropped.
Parked in the driveway was a massive moving truck, its ramp extended onto the manicured front lawn. Two burly men in matching t-shirts were carrying a massive leather sectional sofa up the porch steps.
"What in God's green earth is happening here?" Helen gasped.
I opened the car door before Helen had even shifted into park. The throbbing in my forehead vanished under a tidal wave of adrenaline. I marched up the concrete walkway, my cane tapping aggressively against the stones.
"Stop right there!" I called out to the movers. "Put that furniture down!"
The movers paused, looking baffled as they balanced the heavy couch between them. "Ma'am? We're just hired labor. The homeowner told us to unload everything into the master bedroom and living room."
"I am the homeowner!" I declared, pulling my driver’s license and the deed slip from my purse. "Who hired you?"
Before the mover could answer, the front door swung open. A young man walked out onto the porch, holding an open beer bottle and wearing sweatpants.
It was Marissa’s twenty-two-year-old brother, Kyle.
Kyle stopped chewing his gum, his smirking expression faltering slightly as he saw me. "Uh... Mrs. Vance? What are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here?!" I demanded, climbing the porch steps despite the stiffness in my joints. "Kyle, why are there movers unloading furniture into my house?"
Kyle shrugged, leaning against the doorframe with careless arrogance. "Marcus said it was all settled. He said you guys reached an agreement last night at dinner and that my mom and dad were moving in by the weekend, so I came over early to grab the master bedroom."
"An agreement?!" My voice was like cracked thunder. "Your sister split my skull open with a plate last night because I told your parents NO! She is currently sitting in a jail cell, and you have committed breaking and entering!"
Kyle chuckled nervously, taking a sip of his beer. "Look, lady, I don't know what happened between you and Marissa, okay? But Marcus gave me the keys. He signed the lease agreement for me. So this is technically my residence now."
"Show me the lease," I commanded.
Kyle rolled his eyes, walked inside, and returned a moment later with a single printed sheet of paper. He handed it to me smugly.
I looked at the document. It was a standard downloadable lease agreement from the internet. At the bottom, signed in messy, rushed cursive, were the names: *Marcus Sterling (Landlord)* and *Kyle Sterling (Tenant)*.
Marcus had forged a lease as the *landlord* of a property he didn't own, renting it to his own son for zero dollars a month.
"This is fraud," I said, looking Kyle dead in the eye. "Marcus does not own this home. His name is nowhere on the title. You are trespassing on private property."
"Whatever, Grandma," Kyle sneered, tossing his empty beer bottle into my flower bed. "Call whoever you want. Squatter's rights are a thing in this state. You can't just kick me out. It'll take you six months through housing court to evict me, and by then, the house will be ours anyway."
The sheer audacity of this family left me breathless. They had planned this all along. They assumed an eighty-one-year-old woman would be too timid, too terrified, or too dead to fight back.
I turned around to the two movers who were watching the scene with wide eyes. "Gentlemen, if you bring one single piece of furniture into this house, you are participating in a felony burglary. Pack your truck and leave, or the police will impound your vehicle."
The movers exchanged panicked glances. "Look, lady, we don't want no trouble. Hey, kid, we're putting this couch back on the truck and canceling the order."
"Hey! You can't do that! I paid you!" Kyle yelled, stepping forward.
"You didn't pay us, your dad's check bounced this morning!" the lead mover spat, setting the couch down and heading back to the truck. "We're out of here."
Kyle turned back to me, his fists clenched, his youthful face twisted with ugly fury. "You ruined everything, you old hag! Tyler was right about you! You're a selfish, miserable miser!"
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"Pack your personal bags, Kyle," I said softly, my voice devoid of fear. "You have thirty minutes before the sheriff arrives. And unlike your family, the law does not negotiate with parasites."
***
