She never paid a single dollar for this charity service, the lawyer said, sliding the worn paper across the mahogany desk.
The weight of Beatrice’s ledger felt like a physical burden, yet it also filled me with a cold resolve. Arthur’s crimes weren’t an anomaly; they were a systemic pattern, laid bare in the precise, faded ink of those pages. I knew what I had to do.
“I’m taking this to the district attorney,” I told Beatrice, carefully securing the ledger. “Tonight.”
She nodded slowly, her expression grim. “Be careful, Julian. Arthur fights dirty. He always has.”
Her words echoed in my mind as I walked towards my workshop. I needed to gather my tools, prepare for the fight ahead. I turned the corner onto the familiar street, my heart sinking at the sight of two sheriff deputies already standing outside my building, their uniforms crisp and imposing.
Arthur Kincaid stood beside them, a smirk playing on his lips. His expensive suit seemed out of place against the rough brick of the workshop.
“Well, well, Julian,” he said, his voice dripping with false concern. “Still determined to make a nuisance of yourself?”
A deputy stepped forward, holding a legal document. “Julian Kincaid, we have an eviction notice for Kincaid Woodworks.”
My blood ran cold. “Eviction? What are you talking about? My rent is paid.”
Arthur chuckled, a low, unpleasant sound. “The building’s mortgage, Julian, was recently acquired. By a subsidiary firm of Kincaid Logistics, as it happens. You let a few payments lapse, didn’t you? A foolish oversight.”
A cold, hard knot formed in my stomach. The mortgage. I’d been so focused on keeping the shop afloat, especially after Leo died, that some of the paperwork for the building itself had slipped. I’d meant to catch up.
“You can’t do this!” I protested, my voice cracking. “This is my livelihood! My tools are in there!”
“As of this moment,” Arthur said, a predatory gleam in his eye, “the building and all contents are the property of the new owner. You have 24 hours to clear any personal effects.”
“Twenty-four hours?” I stared at him, disbelief and rage boiling inside me. “You’re seizing everything?”
“It’s all perfectly legal, Julian,” Arthur purred, gesturing vaguely towards the deputies. “Failure to comply with a legal eviction notice results in forfeiture of property. You should have read the fine print on your lease, boy.”
The deputies moved towards the door, one of them pulling out a set of keys. They were going to change the locks.
“My tools, my furniture—that’s $12,000 worth of equipment and finished stock!” I shouted, desperation clawing at me. “You can’t just take it!”
Arthur just shrugged, a dismissive wave of his hand. “Such a shame. But business is business, wouldn’t you agree?”
I watched, helpless, as the lock clicked into place. The deputies turned, their faces impassive. Arthur watched me, his triumphant grin unwavering. My workshop, my sanctuary, my last connection to a decent life, was gone. Stripped away, just like Evelyn’s pension.
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