Chapter 2 - The Repossession Order
By Wednesday afternoon, the silence from my mother and sister had turned from icy to desperate.
After Arthur Vance dropped her, Mom had tried calling my aunt, my cousins, and even my landlord, attempting to spin a narrative that I was "having a nervous breakdown" and "trying to ruin a poor widow's living room."
It hadn't worked.
My cousin Rachel—who had seen the Mother's Day Facebook post before Mom deleted it—had taken a screenshot and circulated it to the family group chat alongside a simple message: Claire paid for Mom's entire house while Madison bought $400 brunch dresses. Leave Claire alone.
At 2:00 PM, I met with the regional credit manager at Crestview Luxury Furniture in their corporate showroom off South Boulevard.
The manager, a tall, sharp-eyed woman named Brenda, looked over the financing documents, the signed delivery receipt, and the email from my mother's former lawyer.
"Ms. Holloway," Brenda said, setting her pen down on the glass desk. "The account is under your name, which means you have absolute legal authority over the physical collateral tied to the loan agreement."
"And if the person currently residing with the furniture refuses to make the agreed-upon payments?" I asked cleanly.
Brenda smiled—a tight, professional expression that carried years of experience dealing with entitled secondary users.
"Clause 14 of your financing contract gives Crestview the right to execute an voluntary asset recovery," Brenda explained. "Since you are the primary account holder, you can request a scheduled retrieval of the inventory at any time to liquidate the outstanding balance and close the line of credit."
"How fast can you dispatch a crew?"
Brenda checked her logistics terminal. "We have an open transport team in the South Charlotte area tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM."
"Book it," I said, handing her my ID. "I'll be standing on her front porch with the master key."
That evening, I sent one final text to the group thread containing my mother and Madison:
Crestview Logistics will arrive at 10:00 AM tomorrow to retrieve the $11,800 sectional, the marble coffee table, and the silk rug. Have the driveway clear.
Thirty seconds later, Madison broke her two-day block to call me.
I picked up on the third ring.
"Are you out of your mind?!" Madison shrieked into the receiver, her voice pitching into a sharp, hysterical screech that echoed off my kitchen tiles. "Mom is having a panic attack! She invited her garden club over on Friday for tea! What is she supposed to sit on?!"
"The floor," I said smoothly. "Or perhaps that $400 cream-colored dress you wore to rooftop brunch."
"You are a horrific sister!" Madison yelled. "Mom raised you! She gave you everything!"
"Madison," I interrupted, my voice dropping into a cold, razor-sharp register that stopped her dead in her tracks. "Mom gave you everything. She gave me the bills. Tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM, the delivery truck arrives. If the door isn't opened, I'm bringing a locksmith and a sheriff's deputy to execute a civil recovery order under my primary account rights."
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"You wouldn't dare!"
"Try me," I said, and hung up.
