Chapter 4 - The Midnight InspectionThe temperature dropped steadily as night fell over Richmond, plunging well below freezing again. Inside the warm sanctuary of Grandma Ruth’s historic manor across town—where Ruth had insisted we stay—Nora was fast asleep in the guest room under a mountain of heirloom quilts.
I, however, was wide awake, staring at my phone as notifications began to pile up in a group chat I hadn’t looked at in years.
Kyle: Audrey, what the hell is going on? Some process server just slapped Mom with an emergency injunction at the house. Kyle: Mom is crying in the kitchen. Dad is pacing. Did you lose your mind? Call us right now. Helen: Audrey, please. We can talk about this like family. You can’t throw us out in the middle of winter. Where are we supposed to go? Kyle: You’re acting crazy over a minor seating mix-up at Christmas dinner. Stop weaponizing Grandma against us!
I didn't reply to a single message. Instead, I opened the Airbnb app and searched for the listing at my parents’ address.
A small, red notification banner flashed across the top of the screen: Listing Temporarily Suspended by Host.
Martin Vance hadn't wasted any time. He had not only filed the property revocation notice but had also notified Airbnb’s corporate legal department regarding fraudulent property representation and unverified commercial hosting.
At 11:45 PM, my phone rang. It wasn't Kyle or Helen. It was an unknown local number with a Richmond area code.
I answered cautiously. “Hello?”
“Audrey? This is Detective Miller with the Richmond Police Department.”
My stomach dropped into my shoes. “Detective? Is everything alright? My daughter is—is something wrong?”
“No, no, ma'am, your daughter is fine. But we received a frantic call from your brother, Kyle, reporting a break-in and illegal trespassing at the property on Elmwood Avenue,” the officer said, his tone professional and slightly weary. “When units arrived on the scene, they found your parents and brother standing outside in their coats in twenty-degree weather, claiming someone locked them out of the house and disabled their smart locks.”
I blinked, processing the information. “Locked out? By whom?”
“By the primary property deed holder, Mrs. Ruth Sterling, who arrived fifteen minutes prior with a locksmith and two armed security guards to execute a lawful property repossession,” the officer said, stifling a dry cough. “Your grandmother told us to call you and let you know that the locks have been changed, the Airbnb guests have been refunded and relocated at your family’s personal expense, and the house is now officially under her direct management. She asked me to ask you: Do you want to press charges for the illegal commercial subletting, or should she handle it civilly?”
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I stared out the frosted window into the dark, quiet Virginia night, a cold smile touching my lips.
“Tell her,” I whispered, “that she can handle it however she sees fit.”
