Chapter 17: The Padlock

Maia's POV

On Thursday morning, the line outside the bakery ran past the dentist's door.

I saw it from the alley at five, carrying a tray of rye through the back.

Then I saw the man in the thin suit standing at my front door with a locksmith.

The locksmith was threading a steel chain through both door handles.

"What are you doing?" I said.

The man in the thin suit turned around.

He had a folder, and a deputy in a tan uniform stood behind him looking at his shoes.

"Ms. Hensel. I'm Mr. Ward's attorney. This is a notice of default."

"Of what?"

"Rent on the fifteenth was tendered in cash. The lease requires a check or transfer."

"I've paid cash for thirteen years."

"And Mr. Ward has allowed it as a courtesy. As of last week, he has withdrawn the courtesy."

The line had gone quiet. Two dozen people stood there with their coffee and their mittens.

The retired man who bought two rye loaves a day said, "Maia, what is this?"

"This," said the lawyer, "is a lawful lockout."

The chain clicked shut around the handles. The locksmith fastened a padlock the size of my fist.

Somebody behind me swore, loudly.

I stood in the cold with a tray of hot bread in my arms and my mother's name on the window above the chain.

For a second I couldn't move.

I looked at the deputy, and he looked at the pavement.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he said. "The paper's in order."

"I know it is."

"You have until noon to remove your property."

"My property is eleven hundred pounds of flour and a five-tier wedding cake."

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