“First section is secure,” Nathan called out, writing something on his clipboard. “We’re moving to the kitchen.”

***

By Wednesday morning, the neighborhood was starting to notice.

A silver SUV slowed down near our mailbox.

Margaret Gable, who lived three doors down, rolled down her passenger window.

She stared at the gaping hole where the eastern half of our house had stood twenty-four hours ago.

“Alexandra?” she called out, squinting through her sunglasses. “Are you doing some remodeling?”

“Just clearing some space, Margaret,” I said.

“It looks like a very large project,” she said, looking at the second modular section as it was hoisted into the air.

“It is,” I said. “We’re restoring the natural landscape.”

She nodded slowly, clearly confused, then rolled her window up and drove away.

The buyers Nathan had found were developers from New Braunfels.

They had purchased the entire six-pod structure for a cash sum that was already sitting in my attorney’s trust account.

Gloria Vance had been clear about the legal status.

“The house was purchased with the construction loan, which was solely in your husband’s business name,” Gloria had explained on the phone.