“You didn’t build this, Richard,” I said. “My grandmother did. And you stole it.”

The process server cleared his throat.

“My job here is done,” he said, nodding to Wyatt. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, David,” Wyatt said.

The server stepped out into the cold night, closing the heavy wooden door behind him.

The click of the latch sounded incredibly loud in the silent house.

My father stared at the closed door, then slowly turned his gaze back to me.

“Get out of my house,” he whispered.

“We are leaving,” I said. “But we’ll be back on Friday with the moving trucks.”

I turned toward the door, my heart hammering against my ribs, but I kept my face expressionless.

Wyatt opened the door for me, and the freezing night air rushed into the warm hallway.

As we stepped out onto the porch, I heard Melanie begin to scream at my father inside.

“How could you let this happen?” she shrieked. “Where am I supposed to go?”

We walked down the steps, our boots crunching on the thin layer of frost on the concrete.