Chapter 2The Nanny Raising A Convict Son

Good times don't last. A week later, men in suits showed up.

US Marshals.

"This property is being seized. Vacate immediately. Personal clothing only. No valuables."

[It’s over. Hitting the streets.]

[The housekeeper is going to run. Who wants to drag around an anchor like this kid?]

[Poor kid. Truly has nothing now.]

I watched the scrolling text, calculating.

"Officer, clothes are allowed, right?"

"Clothing is fine."

I dragged Preston into the walk-in closet.

"Martha, where are we going?" Preston's voice wobbled.

"Wherever. We won't starve."

I opened the wardrobe and started layering.

Thermal underwear first. Then cashmere sweaters. Then a fleece. Then the Master’s trench coat over everything.

"Don't stare, put them on! Wear as much as you can! We can sell this stuff later!"

Preston sniffled and started pulling things on.

His mother’s mink coat, his father’s silk robes. We didn't care about fashion; we just piled it on.

"This... this looks expensive." Preston pulled out a handful of colorful, tiny pieces of fabric from a drawer. "It has beads. And chains."

I glanced at it. Skimpy fabric. God knows where you wear that.

"Take it! Every penny counts. Someone might buy it!"

When we waddled downstairs, the Marshals stared, dumbfounded.

Preston and I looked like two walking spheres. We couldn't put our arms down. We took one step and gasped for breath three times.

"Ma'am, are you moving out or preparing for the apocalypse?"

"I have poor circulation. Is it a crime to be cold?" I asked indignantly.

We stepped out the front door into the blazing July heat. The humidity hit us like a wall.

Two steps in, Preston started walking funny. Like a duck.

"What is it? You hurt?" I stopped to wipe sweat from my forehead.

Preston's face was beet red. He pointed to his rear end. "Martha, it’s wedged."

"What's wedged?"

"That tiny cloth with the beads... you said it was worth money, so I put it on first layer... it’s cutting me in half..."