Chapter Text
Stede wants to cry when the Lyft drops him off in front of the house he grew up in. He hasn't been home since his divorce, refused to come home after what his father said, about him, about Mary.
But now his father is dead. Stede went to the funeral to make sure of it. The bastard hadn't bothered to change his will, so everything went to Stede, including his childhood home.
The lawn has been freshly mowed. It still looks to be in fine shape but Stede knows, because he's read over the legal papers, that that's the HOA's doing.
He has the keys, he's just stalling, now.
He opens the gate. He hates the gate, has always hated the gate, the ugly black iron that imprisoned him as a child, that he couldn't wait to leave behind. That's the first thing that will go.
He walks slowly up the path, straight and unadorned, not a flower in sight, shuddering at the soullessness of it.
He climbs the three steps to the porch, whitewashed, of course, matching every other house on the street.
He unlocks the door, and steps inside.
It still smells faintly of his father's cologne and the cigars he smoked because they were expensive, not because he enjoyed them. The whole place is layered in dust.
The furniture is covered with drop cloths, though. Stede begins to uncover it, making a mental list of what gets donated, what will get sold, and what he actually likes and will keep.
As soon as he knows he can control himself, he's on the phone to his assistant. "Lucius, who do we contract with for cleaning?"
"It's as bad as you thought?"
"Worse." Stede answers. "The dust is at least a half inch thick. And I can't work in here if I can't see."
Lucius makes a thoughtful noise. "Jackie and her group should be available." he says, finally. "They just finished that hotel job. Want me to call her?"
"Yes. It's two stories, and the basement. Hardwood floors, will need the full estate clean, including pantry." he checks the fridge, "But nothing was left to rot in the fridge or freezer. Electric and water are on."
"Furniture?" Lucius asks as the pen he's using scratches away.
"Covered in drop cloths." Stede answers. "Should be fine."
"Got it. And when do you want Oluwande, Wee John, Pete, and Jim?" Lucius asks.
"Two days after Jackie and her crew finish." Stede answers. "Two trucks, one for donation, one for the store. And then I'm going to want Blackbeard's crew out here."
Lucius makes another thoughtful noise, "They're in high demand, they might not have time for you."
"I can afford to wait." Stede says, "And I'll work on some of it myself."
"Oh, no." Lucius says, "Stede, you are not a contractor!"
Stede gives what Lucius will refer to in the future as the 'famous last words' "How hard can it be?"
Jackie and her men (she calls them all her 'husbands' and seems to have inappropriate relationships with most of them, honestly, Revenge Antiques has a betting pool for when she's going to get sued) arrive within forty-eight hours.
"You're lucky, Bonnet. We got done with that hotel earlier than we thought. We'll be done here tomorrow."
"Thank you, Jackie." Stede says, sincerely.
Jackie waves him off, striding back into the house to yell at one of the workers.
The house is sparkling. Jim, Oluwande, Pete, and John have the shop vans parked in front. Stede is showing them around. "The furniture is marked. Green sticker stays, yellow to the store, red to donate." he gives the instructions. "I'll be packing the knick-knacks if you need me."
Oluwande puts on the music, a mix that has been fought over, cried over (though Pete would never admit it) and finally agreed on by the moving crew. Stede puts in his earbuds with the most recent audiobook (Pirate Latitudes, by Michael Crichton).
It is shaping up to be an enjoyable day.
Nigel Badminton ruins it about an hour into their work. Over the sound of the music, over Stede's audiobook, comes a pounding at the door. "Police!"
"Hey, boss?"
Stede's already taken his earbuds out and is standing to deal with the issue when Oluwande finds him in the master bedroom. "I'm coming."
"Good. Because Jim's looking a little feral."
Stede moves a bit faster than he normally would, almost tripping down the stairs.
Two of the city's finest are in the foyer, holsters unsnapped, hands hovering, while Jim, Pete, and John are all in the living room. John has a hand on Jim's shoulder, holding them back.
Nigel Badminton is peering in the doorway. "Stede, old friend!" he cries, before Stede, or the police, can say anything.
Stede inclines his head to Nigel but addresses the cops. "How can I help you, officers?" He draws on every lesson his father ever gave him in being unquestionable, draws on every ounce of privilege he now knows he has.
"We got a call about theft." One of the officers says, doubtfully.
"I'm the homeowner." Stede replies. "My employees are helping me move out some old furniture in preparation for a remodel."
Nigel butts in, "You can't remodel your father's house! It should be on the historic registry!"
Stede ignores Nigel and continues, "So as you can see, the person who called you was mistaken. The vans out front belong to my antique store."
"They are parked in a no parking zone." the other officer mentions.
"Are they?" Stede says, mildly. "There's no sign, no fire hydrant, and it wasn't on the map or the rules of the Homeowners Association that I got."
Nigel butts in again, "Oh, did Chauncy not make sure you got the updated version? I'll run 'round and get it for you now."
"Yes, thank you, Nigel." Stede says, absently. "Of course, once I have verification of the correct places to park the vans, we'll move them. Is there anything else, officers?"
"Nothing is missing?" the first one persists. "The caller said you had questionable people in and out over the last few days."
"I hired professional cleaners. Spanish Jackie'z is one of the best in the city. The mayor contracts with her."
Finally, the officers leave. Jim dissolves into an explosion of Spanish that Stede pretends not to understand, while Oluwande tries to soothe them. "I think an early lunch is in order." Stede decides. "And then we can unload what's currently in the vans. We'll come back tomorrow after I have the so-called 'correct' parking map."
Pete frowns at him, "I can take the neighbor dude."
"I know you can, Pete." Stede soothes, absently, "But I'm not sure that's how I want to deal with it."
Stede knows, actually, exactly how he wants to deal with it. It's time to call his ex-wife, and her terrifying lawyer friend, Evelyn.