Chapter 7 - The Auction Block
Three weeks later, the civil and criminal courts worked in unison to clean up the wreckage.
My parents’ home was put on the expedited foreclosure auction block by the county sheriff to pay off the primary bank liens and the restitution owed to victims of the fraud scheme—including Ava.
I drove past the house on the morning of the auction.
The manicured lawn where we used to have Sunday dinners was cluttered with orange orange county signs. Two moving trucks were parked on the curb as court-appointed marshals supervised the removal of personal property that hadn't been seized for restitution.
My father was sitting on an overturned plastic crate near the garage, his head resting in his hands. He looked broken, depleted, and utterly stripped of the pompous authority he had wielded over me my entire life.
My mother was arguing with a marshal, trying to save a set of silver cutlery, but the officer firmly guided her back behind the yellow tape.
And Nicole? She was sitting in a county transport van parked across the street, wearing a yellow jumpsuit and wrist restraints, brought in to sign off on property asset transfers before her transfer to the state correctional facility.
Through the tinted glass of my car, I saw Nicole look out the window. Our eyes met for a brief second.
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There was no arrogance left in her face. No smirk. No snappy remarks about how her kids "deserved it more." Just the hollow, empty reality of a woman who had burnt down every bridge she had ever crossed.
I didn't roll down my window. I didn't stop. I simply pressed the gas pedal and drove away.
