Two men in gray uniforms were lifting my mother’s cedar chest, the brass corners catching the dull light.

“They are taking everything, Arthur,” I whispered, my chest tightening.

“Not for long, Eleanor,” he said quietly.

Arthur opened his door and stepped out into the rain.

He did not bother with an umbrella.

He walked to the front of the Buick and stood right against the iron bars of the gate.

I opened my door too, the cold wind catching my breath as I stepped onto the wet gravel.

“Eleanor, get back in that car,” Victoria snapped, pointing her clipboard at me.

“This is my home, Victoria,” I said, walking up to stand beside Arthur.

The gravel crunched beneath my shoes, the sound sharp in the quiet afternoon.

“It was Garrett’s home,” Charles said. “And now it is ours.”

“You evicted me before his body was even cold,” I said.

“We followed the letter of the law,” Victoria said, her chin tilting upward.

“You followed a draft that was never meant to be filed,” Arthur said.

He reached into his heavy wool coat and pulled out a leather folio.