Chapter 13: The Moving Trucks
They listed the house the very next day. Because they needed a fast cash sale to beat the thirty-day deadline, they had to accept a lowball offer from a corporate flipper. They lost hundreds of thousands of dollars in potential equity, practically giving away a lifetime of memories to stay out of a federal penitentiary.
On a rainy Tuesday, I drove past the old neighborhood. A massive moving truck sat in the driveway. Robert was carrying boxes out to the curb, his shoulders slumped, looking like a broken man. Janet was arguing with a mover over a cheap lamp. They were moving into a cramped, two-bedroom apartment on the bad side of town.
I didn't stop. I didn't roll down the window. I just watched them fade in my rearview mirror, feeling a profound, heavy sense of closure. They had chosen their favorite. Now, they had to live with him in the ashes of their own making.
