The dining room of the Vance estate, which had once hosted elegant catered dinner parties for the city's social elite, now felt like a funeral home.

Richard sat at the head of the long mahogany table, staring blankly at a plate of cold, over-salted spaghetti. Chloe ha

Morning usually arrived gently in Oakridge.

Sunlight filtered through mature maple trees, sprinklers clicked across manicured lawns, and luxury vehicles glided silently from heated garages. The neighborhood had been designed to make wealth look effortles

By Friday, the house no longer felt like a home.

It felt like a building waiting to be seized.

The landline rang throughout the morning until Richard unplugged it from the wall. Calls then shifted to his cell phone.

The utility company wanted payment.

The office