This man saw the farm as nothing more than numbers on a spreadsheet. He didn't see the history, the love, the life that had been lived here. Get off my porch, Arthur said quietly. Excuse me, I said. Get off my porch.
This is still my property until April 15th. Until then, you're trespassing. Sterling's mask slipped for just a moment, showing the anger beneath. You're making a mistake, old man. I'm offering you a way out, a chance to leave with dignity.
I have my dignity. It's the one thing you can't buy or foreclose on. Now get out before I get my shotgun. Sterling stood there for a long moment, his jaw clenched. Then he smiled again, though it didn't reach his eyes.
Have it your way, but on April 15th, I'll be back with the sheriff and a bulldozer, and there won't be anything you can do about it. He walked back to his Mercedes, got in, and drove away, leaving deep ruts in Arthur's muddy driveway. Arthur sat on the porch long after he left, his hands shaking slightly. Not from fear, from rage, from the helplessness of knowing Sterling was right. On April 15th, it would all be over.
That night, he took out the burner phone Silus had given him. He turned it on, looked at the single number saved in the contacts. He almost called, almost. But pride stopped him. These were his problems, his debts.
He'd made his choices. He couldn't ask others to fight his battles, especially not a motorcycle club that had their own troubles. He turned the phone off and put it back in the drawer, but he didn't throw it away. April 15th dawned bright and clear, the kind of spring morning that Martha would have called a gift from God. Arthur stood on his porch at sunrise, dressed in his best clothes, the suit he'd worn to Martha's funeral, cleaned and pressed.
If this was the end, he'd meet it with dignity. He made coffee, scrambled the last eggs from his hen house. He'd sold the hens last week and ate breakfast slowly, savoring every bite. Then he sat in his rocking chair, the shotgun across his lap, and waited. They came at 10:00.
First was Sheriff Miller in his patrol car, looking uncomfortable in his uniform. Then came Sterling's Mercedes, followed by a flatbed truck carrying a bulldozer. Behind that, two more trucks with Sterling's security people. Big men in sunglasses who were probably hired muscle pretending to be legitimate contractors. Sterling got out of his car first, all smiles.
Good morning, Mr. Pendleton. Beautiful day, isn't it? Arthur didn't respond. Sterling climbed the porch steps, waving a sheath of papers. I have the final foreclosure order right here, signed by Judge Patterson himself.
As of 8:00 a. m. this morning, this property belongs to First National Bank, which has sold it to Sterling Development LLC, my company, which means legally speaking, you are now trespassing. This is my home. Was your home, now it's mine. Sheriff Miller is here to ensure a peaceful transition. Sterling's smile widened.
So, are you going to leave peacefully, or do we have to do this the hard way? Sheriff Miller stepped forward. He looked like a man being asked to shoot a dog. Arthur, I don't want any trouble. You know me.
I don't want to arrest you. But the law is the law. The law is whatever people like him pay it to be. Arthur said, nodding at Sterling. That's a serious accusation, Sterling said, his voice hardening.
Sheriff, I think we've been patient enough. If Mr. Pendleton won't leave, remove him. The sheriff put his hand on his gun. Arr, please don't make me. You'll have to shoot me, Arthur said calmly.
Because I'm not leaving. I was born in this house. Martha died in this house. If you want it, you'll have to bury me in it. Sterling's smile vanished entirely.
You stubborn old fool. You think anyone cares? You think anyone is coming to save you? Look around. There's no one here but you.
No family, no friends. You're all alone and you've always been alone. That's why you're losing everything. Because you don't matter. You never mattered.
The words hit harder than Arthur expected because part of him, the tired, grieving part, believed them. Sheriff Miller's hand was on his holster now. Arthur, I'm going to count to three. If you don't stand up and walk away, I'm going to have to. Arthur's phone rang.
Not the burner phone. His regular cell phone, the one he'd managed to keep active with the last of his money. He picked it up. Hello, Arthur. Silas's voice was steady, calm.
How you doing? Arthur glanced at Sterling, at the sheriff, at the bulldozer waiting to tear down his home. Been better. That developer there yet? He's standing on my porch.
Good. Tell him we're 3 minutes out. Arthur's heart skipped. Silus, you don't have to. We pay our debts, Arthur.
Always have. Always will. 3 Minutes. Hold on. The line went dead.
Sterling smirked. Another goodbye call. How touching. Sheriff, I've had enough of this. If he won't move, drag him off.
The sheriff stepped forward reluctantly. His deputies were getting out of their cars now, hands on their weapons. Then the ground started to vibrate. It was subtle at first. The coffee in the sheriff's cup began to ripple.
The windows of the farmhouse rattled slightly. Birds exploded from the trees, flying away in a panic. Sheriff Miller froze. What thing? The vibration became a rumble.