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The study went dead quiet, save for the rhythmic *tick-tock* of the grandfather clock.
“And the company?” Arthur asked, every syllable dropping like a lead sinker into deep water.
“The company sued us, Mr. Vance,” Eleanor wept, her voice breaking into a bitter, ragged whisper. “Kensington Commercial had a fleet of corporate lawyers from Center City. They filed a secondary counterclaim against Thomas’s estate, alleging that his ‘unauthorized presence’ in the trench had delayed the municipal contract and caused three hundred thousand dollars in liquidated damages to the city of Reading. They placed a civil judgment lien on our small two-bedroom house in Ephrata. The county sheriff auctioned our home off the courthouse steps last November.”
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Eleanor wiped her tears with the sleeve of the cream sweater, her chin lifting with that same ferocious, unbending defiance that had looked out through the tear in the blue dumpster tarp.
