That's impossible. I have all the receipts, every payment. Aaron took the notice, scanning it quickly. The letterhead was from a management company he'd never heard of. When did you last deal with the original landlord?
Two weeks ago, Sharon replied. He came by to fix the back door. Never mentioned anything about selling or changing companies. They're trying to push us out, Aaron said, his voice low and controlled. Classic intimidation tactic.
First the funeral, now this. Mama Taylor began to cry softly. My boy built a life here. 20 Years in this house. His children were born here.
Aaron moved to his mother's side, kneeling beside her chair. His strong hands enclosed her smaller ones. Mama, listen to me. They think they can break us. They think if they push hard enough, we'll run scared.
But they don't know who they're dealing with. I have all the bank statements, Sharon said, her teacher's organizational skills kicking in. Every receipt, every interaction documented. I keep everything. Good.
Aaron nodded. That's exactly what we need. Documentation, evidence. They're used to people being too frightened or overwhelmed to fight back properly. Marcus Jr.
Spoke for the first time since the funeral. Dad always said to keep records, "Said it was important, especially for us." Aaron smiled sadly at his nephew. "Your father was a smart man. He knew the game they play, and now we're going to use everything he taught us." The family worked to clear the table trying to maintain some sense of normaly. Sharon packed leftovers while Mama Taylor supervised Marcus Jr.
Loading the dishwasher. Aaron checked the locks on all the windows and doors, his military training making the security sweep second nature. The night had grown darker, but the street lights cast enough glow to illuminate the yard. Voices drifted up from outside. Familiar unwelcome voices.
Did you see them all scrambling to write things down? Miller's mocking tone carried clearly through the window like they think their little notebook's going to change anything. Aaron moved silently to the window, staying hidden behind the curtain. He could make out Miller and two other officers standing by a patrol car. "That soldier boy thinks he's going to come in here and shake things up," Miller continued.
Probably some desk jockey playing dress up. Bet he ain't never seen real action. Aaron's fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white with controlled rage. The irony of Miller's words might have been amusing if the situation weren't so serious. Three tours in Afghanistan, two in Iraq, and countless classified operations.