Chapter 6 - The Feast of Dust
Brandon stumbled into the dining room, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Standing in the entryway to the dining room was Carter Sterling, along with two other prominent real estate investors from the country club. They were staring into the room with expressions of utter bewilderment.
The room was completely stripped.
The twelve-foot heirloom mahogany dining table was gone. The matching eight Queen Anne chairs—the ones Richard had lovingly waxed every autumn—were gone. The antique Persian rug that usually covered the hardwood floor was gone.
All that remained in the center of the vast, echoey room was a battered, folding aluminum card table that Eleanor must have retrieved from the attic, surrounded by two rusty metal lawn chairs.
Sitting on top of the card table was a single, dusty plastic bowl filled with stale, supermarket candy canes, and a post-it note attached to the side: *Merry Christmas, Son.*
“Brandon,” Carter Sterling said, his voice dropping into a dangerously quiet register. “Is this some sort of fraternity prank?”
“N-no, Carter, please, let me explain!” Brandon stammered, sweat breaking out along his hairline despite the bone-chilling cold of the room. “My mother... she had an episode! A severe mental break! She’s elderly, you see, and she’s been showing signs of dementia. She must have cleared the house and run off in a state of confusion!”
“A mental break?” a sharp female voice echoed from the hallway.
It was Mrs. Sterling. She had wandered into the adjoining formal living room, pointing toward the walls.
“She cleared out every photograph of your father,” Mrs. Sterling said, her eyes narrowing with sharp skepticism. “She removed every antique, every piece of family silver, and took all the food. That doesn't look like confusion, Brandon. That looks like an eviction.”
Vanessa stepped forward, her voice rising to a frantic, shrill pitch. “It’s fine! We can fix this! Brandon, call the French bistro downtown! Call *Le Petit Chateaux*! Order thirty prime rib dinners and fifty bottles of champagne! We can have it delivered by six-thirty, and we’ll set up high-top tables by the fireplace!”
“Yes! Yes, of course!” Brandon gasped, frantically pulling his smartphone from his pocket. He brought up his banking application to verify his funds before dialing the luxury caterer.
He opened the app. He tapped the primary account.
**BALANCE: $0.00**
A bright red notification flashed across the screen:
*ACCOUNT CLOSED BY PRIMARY OWNER: ELEANOR VANCE. ALL SECONDARY AUTHORIZED USERS TERMINATED AS OF DECEMBER 25, 09:00 AM.*
Brandon blinked, his thumbs shaking so badly he dropped the phone onto the hardwood floor. It landed with a loud clatter that echoed through the bare room.
He grabbed the phone, frantically opening his business credit card app.
**AVAILABLE CREDIT: $42.18**
*CARD TEMPORARILY SUSPENDED: COLLATERAL REVIEW PENDING.*
“No,” Brandon choked out, clenching his teeth until his jaw ached. “She cut the feeds. She pulled the money out of the operational trust.”
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“Brandon?” Vanessa’s voice was no longer frantic; it was turning lethal. “What do you mean she pulled the money? What about the twenty thousand we were using for the country club deposit? What about my car lease payment tomorrow?”
The guests stood frozen in the cold hallway, listening to every single word.
