Chapter 3 - The Notice on the Door
At 6:30 PM, the front door of apartment 4B on North Paulina Street was solid oak, stained dark walnut, with a brass peephole that Arthur Hernandez had installed himself twenty years ago when the neighborhood was still rough around the edges.
Arthur sat in his brown leather recliner, his feet propped up, watching the local evening news. The aroma of roasted pork chops and garlic-infused black beans drifted from the kitchen. Teresa was at the stove, humming an old bolero while she stirred a pot of yellow rice.
To Teresa, the house had never felt cleaner.
For months, the apartment had felt crowded to her. Daniela had always been too quiet, too observant, sitting in the dining room with her laptop open, editing books, while that little girl ran around leaving handprints on the hallway mirrors. Teresa had worked her whole life cleaning houses for wealthy families in Lincoln Park before Arthur’s retirement; she felt she had earned the right to peace and quiet. She didn't want milk stains on her microfiber sofa. She didn't want to hear the high-pitched giggles of a toddler when she was trying to watch her afternoon soap operas.
"Arthur," Teresa called out over the hiss of the frying meat. "Did you take down the playpen from the second bedroom like I told you?"
Arthur didn't lower his newspaper immediately. "I folded it up. It’s in the closet."
"Put it in the basement storage locker tomorrow," Teresa snapped, wiping her hands on an apron embroidered with red flowers. "If Daniela wants her junk, she can come get it from the super. I told her: when she learns how to behave like a grown woman with a real career instead of typing on a computer all day, she can come back for Sunday dinner. Not before."
"She’s your daughter, Teresa," Arthur muttered, his voice flat, habitual, completely devoid of conviction. "And the baby is only two."
"And whose fault is that?" Teresa retorted, stepping into the living room with a wooden spoon in her hand. "She married that useless accountant who ran off to Denver with his paralegal. Did I tell her to marry him? No. Did she listen to me? Never. She’s stubborn, Arthur. She’s always thought she was smarter than everyone else in this family just because she went to college downtown. Well, let's see how smart she is when she has to pay real Chicago rent on her own."
Before Arthur could reply, the apartment door buzzer sounded—a sharp, mechanical rattle that echoed through the small hallway.
Teresa frowned, glancing at the wall clock. "Who is that? Did Vanessa order food again?"
Arthur hauled himself out of the recliner with a groan, his knees popping under his weight. He walked to the intercom by the door, pressed the talk button, and barked, "Who is it?"
"Specialized Legal Delivery Services for Arthur and Teresa Hernandez," a monotone voice crackled through the speaker. "I have an urgent physical service document that requires a signature from the primary resident, or it will be posted to the door per municipal code."
Teresa stepped up behind her husband, her brow furrowed in suspicion. "What did you do, Arthur? Did you forget to pay the water bill again?"
"I don't owe any water bill," Arthur grumbled. He unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the heavy door open.
Standing in the carpeted hallway was a tall man in a navy windbreaker carrying a dark leather clipboard. He looked completely indifferent to the warm smell of garlic coming from the kitchen. He glanced at a paper on his clipboard, then looked at Arthur.
"Arthur Hernandez?"
"Yeah. What's this about?"
The man didn't answer with words. He cleanly detached a thick, manila envelope from beneath the clip, along with an attached legal document printed on bright canary-yellow cardstock, and held it out.
"You’ve been served with a formal Notice to Vacate and Demand for Possession under Illinois Compiled Statutes, Chapter 735," the process server stated in a rapid, practiced drone. "A copy has been logged with the Cook County Clerk of the Circuit Court. Have a good evening, sir."
He didn't wait for Arthur to speak. He turned on his heel, walked briskly toward the stairwell door, and disappeared down the stairs.
"What is that?" Teresa demanded, snatching the envelope out of Arthur’s hands before he could even look at it. "Who was that man? Why are you just standing there like a fool?"
She tore open the envelope with her thumb.
Inside was a four-page legal document prepared on the heavy bond paper of *Vance & Associates, Attorneys at Law*.
At the top, in bold, capitalized letters, the title read:
**NOTICE OF TERMINATION OF TENANCY-AT-WILL AND DEMAND FOR POSSESSION OF REAL PROPERTY**
Teresa squinted at the small, dense legal text. Her English was good enough for groceries and doctors, but formal legal terms made her eyes swim.
"Arthur, read this," she ordered, shoving the papers back into his chest. "What does 'Tenancy-at-Will' mean? We don't have a tenancy. We own this apartment!"
Arthur put on his reading glasses, which hung from a cord around his neck. He adjusted the light switch in the hallway, his eyes scanning down the page.
"To: Arthur Hernandez and Teresa Hernandez," Arthur read aloud, his voice dropping lower with every word. "'You are hereby notified that your permission to occupy the premises located at 1842 North Paulina Street, Unit 4B, Chicago, Illinois, is terminated effective thirty (30) calendar days from the date of service of this notice... Failure to surrender full possession of the premises by midnight on the thirtieth day will result in the immediate filing of a forcible entry and detainer action in the Circuit Court of Cook County...'"
"What are you saying?!" Teresa’s voice spiked into a shrill screech. "Who wrote that garbage?! Call the super! Call the condo board! Who thinks they can kick us out of our own home?!"
Arthur didn't answer. His fingers were trembling slightly as he flipped to the third page.
Stapled to the back of the notice was a photocopy of a Cook County Recorder of Deeds document, complete with the official county seal stamp, a document identification number, and two signatures at the bottom.
"Arthur!" Teresa grabbed his arm, shaking him. "Who signed that paper?!"
Arthur looked up from the page, his face completely pale, his jaw slacked open.
"Look at the petitioner line, Teresa," Arthur whispered.
Teresa snatched the paper back, her eyes darting frantically across the black-and-white lines until they landed on the bold print under the title of *Legal Owner / Grantee*:
**DANIELA M. HERNANDEZ**
Beneath her name, signed in clean, deliberate cursive with black ink, was my signature. And beneath that was the stamp of the notary public who had witnessed Teresa and Arthur signing the quitclaim deed five years ago during the lawsuit with Uncle Hector.
Teresa’s mouth opened, but no sound came out for five seconds. Her skin turned a mottled, sickly white.
"No," she breathed. "No, this is a mistake. This was just a formality. We signed this so Hector’s lawyers wouldn't take the roof from over our heads! She was just holding it for us! She promised!"
"Did she promise in writing?" Arthur asked, his voice suddenly sounding old, fragile, and cracked.
"She’s my daughter!" Teresa screamed, her rage finally erupting through the shock. She slammed the papers onto the small console table by the door, knocking over a ceramic bowl filled with keys. "She’s my flesh and blood! I gave birth to her! I carried her for nine months! She slept in that very bedroom when she was a baby!"
Just then, the front door rattled again.
Vanessa burst into the apartment without knocking, her face flushed red with tears, her hair wild from running up the four flights of stairs from her car.
"Mom!" Vanessa cried, dropping her designer handbag directly onto the hardwood floor. "Daniela turned off my mortgage! The bank told me she canceled the transfer! I’m going into default! She’s trying to ruin my life!"
Teresa didn't look at Vanessa. She slowly turned her head toward the canary-yellow notice lying on the table.
"Your mortgage?" Teresa whispered, her voice shaking with an fury so intense her chest heaved beneath her floral apron. "You think she’s trying to ruin *your* life, Vanessa?"
Teresa picked up the eviction notice and held it inches from Vanessa’s face.
May you like
"She just kicked us out of our house."
***
