“He has sixty minutes to vacate the premises.”

Patricia let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

“This is ridiculous,” she said.

“My son is the executor of this estate.”

“No, he is not,” Thomas said, stepping forward.

“His executorship was suspended by a judge three hours ago.”

“Move aside, Patricia.”

“Get off our property!” a voice shouted from the hallway.

Mark appeared behind his mother.

He was wearing the same clothes from the night before, his shirt wrinkled and stained with liquor.

His hair was wild, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“Claire!” he screamed, pointing a finger at me.

“You brought the police to my house?”

“It is my house, Mark,” I said.

“And you are leaving.”

Sheriff Miller walked past Patricia, his hand resting on his service weapon.

“Mark, you need to step back,” the sheriff said.

“You are being served with an emergency eviction.”

“I am not going anywhere!” Mark shouted.

His voice was hoarse, cracking with rage.

“I put five years of my life into this place!”

“You put five years into robbing my mother,” I said.

“I have the flash drive, Mark.”