Chapter 6 - Frozen Assets and Melting Tempers
Saturday morning brought a different kind of quiet. It was the heavy, suffocating silence of a house where everyone is calculating their next move.
Robert had returned late the previous night, long after I had locked myself in the master bedroom. I had heard him pacing the living room, his footsteps heavy, punctuated by the occasional low murmur of a phone call. He hadn't tried to enter the bedroom; he knew the code would lock him out, and he didn't have the energy to fight the electronic keypad.
When I entered the kitchen at six-thirty, I found him sitting at the island, a cup of instant coffee in his hands. He hadn't shaved, and his hair was a messy nest.
"You froze the accounts," he said, not looking up as I walked in. His voice was flat, devoid of the anger he had shown earlier, replaced by a deep, bone-weary exhaustion.
"I did," I replied, starting the coffee maker. "You used three hundred and fifty dollars of our joint property tax savings to pay Madison’s rent, Robert. That money was not yours to give. It was marital property designated for a specific, legally binding debt. I had to protect my financial interests."
"She’s my daughter, Laura!" Robert suddenly snapped, slamming his mug onto the counter. "What was I supposed to do? Let you throw her into the rain? Let her sleep in her car?"
"Yes," I said, turning to face him. "Because she is twenty-four years old. She has a college degree that I helped pay for. She has a husband who claims to be a professional. If they are forced to sleep in their car for a few nights, they will quickly realize that their pride is not worth more than a paycheck at a retail job. But as long as you play the savior, they will continue to treat you like a bank and me like a nuisance."
Robert shook his head, his eyes moist with unshed tears. "You're cold, Laura. I never knew how cold you could be."
"I am not cold, Robert. I am realistic. I have watched you drown in debt for years trying to keep Madison happy, and I refused to let her drag me down with you. I worked too hard for my financial independence to let a couple of lazy millennials strip it away because they think they’re too good for entry-level work."
At that moment, the hallway door opened, and Evan walked out. He was dressed in a suit that looked slightly too tight, his hair slicked back. He had a leather portfolio under his arm.
He looked at me, then at Robert. "I have an interview," he announced, trying to sound confident. "A marketing firm downtown. They’re looking for an account executive."
I raised an eyebrow. "Good. I hope you get it. The rent is five hundred dollars next Friday, and as I told Madison yesterday, Robert's accounts are frozen. He cannot help you."
Evan swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing. "I know. I... I'm going to get the job."
"Let's hope so," I said, pouring my coffee. "Because the lock on the front door is scheduled to be rekeyed next Friday at 12:01 PM if the transfer isn't in my account."
Evan didn't answer. He grabbed his keys from the counter and practically fled the house, the front door clicking shut behind him.
Madison emerged from the hallway a few minutes later, her eyes red-rimmed. She didn't look at me; she went straight to her father, throwing her arms around his neck and sobbing quietly.
"Dad, I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I'm sorry we're causing so much trouble. I just... I don't know what to do. Everything is so hard right now."
Robert held her, glaring at me over her shoulder. "It's okay, Maddie. We'll figure it out. I promise."
I watched them, feeling a strange mix of pity and disgust. Madison’s tears were real, but they weren't tears of sorrow; they were tears of frustration because her usual manipulation tactics weren't working on me. She was trying to play the victim to keep her father firmly on her side, and Robert was falling for it, hook, line, and sinker.
"I'm going to my office," I said, picking up my mug. "Madison, remember that today is your day to clean the shared bathroom. I expect it to be spotless by five o'clock, or there will be a twenty-five-dollar fee added to your ledger."
"I'm not your maid!" she shrieked through her tears.
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"No," I replied, tapping the keypad on my office door. "You're my tenant. And in this house, tenants follow the rules or they face eviction. Have a productive day."
I shut the door, leaving them to their misery.
