Chapter 4 - Cleaning House
Within an hour, the movers were gone, the dumpster was towed away, and my relatives were forced to drive off under the watchful eye of the Sheriff. Victor looked broken, knowing his fraudulent debts would now catch up with him, while Larissa cursed my name all the way down the lane.
When the dust settled, the house was quiet again.
I walked up the porch steps with Ranger at my side. The house was messy—drawers pulled open, closets rummaged through—but the bones of the place were still Grandpa's.
I went into the living room, picked up Grandpa's old flannel jacket from the floor where Larissa had dropped it, and put it back on his armchair.
Ranger walked over, circled twice, and laid down right across the seat of the chair, his chin resting on the flannel sleeve. For the first time in nine days, he let out a long, contented sigh, his tail giving three slow thumps against the wood.
I sat on the rug beside him, burying my face in his thick fur, and finally let myself cry—not out of fear or exhaustion, but out of grief and profound gratitude.
Later that afternoon, Mr. Vance returned with the keys to the mountain property mentioned in the letter.
"Your grandfather bought that 40-acre timber plot thirty years ago, Elena," Mr. Vance told me as we sat in the kitchen. "The timber alone is worth roughly $600,000. Plus, his bank accounts hold nearly $300,000 from his years of leatherwork and land investments. You are financially secure for the rest of your life."
May you like
I looked out the kitchen window at the apple trees Grandpa had planted when I was a little girl. "I don't need a fortune, Mr. Vance. I just wanted him to know I loved him."
"He knew, Elena," Mr. Vance said gently. "That's why he made sure nobody could ever take your home away again."
