No Papers for the Maid

No Papers for the Maid

As discussed in previous posts, on December 14, 2013, our home burned down.  This was our dream home on a little farm—realized through a lot of sacrifices, sweat and blood.

In 2013, before the fire, despite our opting-out and protests, Citizens insurance company sold our policy, along with about 65,000 others, to Heritage Property Casualty Insurance Company. This was done two months after the nine-month-old company donated $110,000 to Rick Scott according to the article, “Hue and Cry Grows Over Deal for Scott Donor”, published on 5/24/2013 by the Miami Herald.  A couple of days after the fire, Heritage’s senior claims adjuster David Kiliszek and a vice president (who has since given an affidavit denying he was there) came to our property along with their hired fire investigator. The fire department concluded their investigation and ruled out arson. Kiliszek was sympathetic and convinced us not to hire a lawyer and that the claim would be paid. We believed them since they gave us money to pay the first, last, and security deposit of a rental. I had no idea what was to come.

            However, about six months after the fire, they denied the claim and I had filed a lawsuit in court.  Two years later, at a hearing in late 2015, I would meet Heritage’s lawyers face to face for the first time. When the lead attorney, Michelle Diverio, addressed the court, she said something to the effect that “Marie Pharel is a teacher and Jean Pharel a cab driver; so, Your Honor, how can they afford this house?” I’m not sure what bothered me more: the fact that she said it or the fact that my attorney didn’t object to her opening remarks.  Her characterization wasn’t new. Since building the 5500 sqft dream home on our 5 acre farm, we’ve had our share of incredulous looks and sideway comments, but we’ve always laughed it off.  We got a good laugh on several occasions when the developer of the community of houses adjacent to our property was being sued. Though we were not part of the development, we were named in the lawsuit due to our proximity. Once when the process server came to serve us papers, he asked, “Is the homeowner home?” Immediately, I realized the implication of his abrupt question. I answered, “Well, I’m just cleaning the house, is there something I can do for you?” The man replied, “No, we can’t serve the maid.”  

            Who is supposed to own such a house that looks more imposing than it is? I’ve often asked myself this same question. Doctors? Lawyers? Models? Actors? Albion’s seeds. People who characterize us as not being the “type” who should or could own this house don’t know that I wake up every morning at 4:50 AM to make it to the college to teach a 7AM class before I start my full time position as an advisor at 8AM. They don’t know that I’ve taught a fifty-minute class during my 1-hour lunch break to make a little extra money. They don’t know that when I clock out of my full-time job, I often teach night classes or write. They don’t know that I often get home from teaching those night classes at 10 to drop in bed to get up to do it all over in less than 6 hours. They don’t know that after working tirelessly as a one-man show on the farm, my husband spends his Saturdays and Sundays behind the wheel of a taxi.

Throughout the case, I’ve worried that Diverio’s statement would have a greater impact than anyone involved would ever admit. This fear became a reality for me at the last summary judgment hearing, when Diverio, making a point to the judge, said something to the effect, “Who does that?…Someone who has something to hide.” When this statements is juxtaposed with the question of how a teacher and a cab driver can own such a house, I wonder if what they reveal in my mind is true. I mean no disrespect to the judge, but in America, since we are free to question, I’m going to ask a question. Could the fact that the judge granted the summary judgment, despite glaring issues in the case, be because he, too, thought a teacher and a cab driver who have a house like this must have something to hide?

The events that followed the summary judgment, such as being forced to turn in my social security number, bank account numbers, list of assets, and any other financial statements, have made me question what were they hoping to uncover? That question got me thinking about an event that happened soon after the fire when we found that every bag of mulch, soil, and fertilizer in our barn had been ripped open. I was perplexed. What were they looking for? I asked my husband. He shook his head, saddened by the loss of the products vandalized. “Drugs,” he said.

I laughed. We drink kosher wine and don’t even smoke cigarettes.

We don’t have great family names, noble pedigree, or trust funds; I am just a teacher and my husband is just a cab driver. We also know that other people work just as hard as we do; however, they have not been able to do the things we’ve done. But the answer to every accomplishment, every accolade, and every ability that I possess is not something I can hide. It’s as plain as the actual cross etched on my nose.

AFTER THE FIRE