Chapter 3 - The Eviction
I gestured to Marcus, who nodded and pulled a final, extremely thick document from his briefcase. He placed it gently on the table.
"This estate," Marcus said, gesturing to the lavish dining room, the crystal chandeliers, and the silk Turkish rugs, "is technically owned by the Sterling-Vanguard Corporate Housing Trust. It was transferred into the trust five years ago to avoid bankruptcy."
Carter backed away from the window, his eyes wild, looking like a trapped animal. "No. No, that's impossible. This is my childhood home."
"It's a corporate asset," I clarified. "An asset that I just reallocated. You have exactly one hour to pack your personal belongings. Clothes, shoes, and toiletries only. No art, no furniture, no jewelry purchased with company funds. At 3:00 PM, the security team will physically escort you off the premises."
Chloe burst into tears. Real, hysterical, ugly tears.
"Carter!" she shrieked, grabbing his arm. "Tell them to stop! You told me you were a multi-millionaire! You told me we were buying a villa in Tuscany next month!"
Carter looked at Chloe, the illusion of his wealth and power completely shattered. "Chloe, shut up! Just shut up for a second so I can think!"
"Don't you yell at me!" Chloe screamed back, her true colors finally bleeding through the sweet, innocent facade. "I didn't sign up to be broke! I didn't sign up for this!"
She yanked the massive diamond engagement ring off her finger—a ring I knew for a fact was paid for with a company bonus—and threw it at Carter’s chest.
"I'm leaving," Chloe sobbed. She looked at me, her eyes pleading. "Harper, please. I didn't know. He manipulated me. Let me just get my things."
I looked at her ruined flats. "You can leave. But the designer clothes stay. You can leave in whatever you brought with you before you met my husband."
Chloe let out a wail of despair and sprinted out of the dining room, heading for the front door.
Beatrice collapsed into her dining chair, clutching her chest. For the first time in the three years I had known her, she looked old. Fragile. Weak.
"Harper, please," Beatrice whispered, the arrogance completely gone, replaced by a pathetic, desperate whine. "I'm an old woman. You can't put me out on the street. Where will I go?"
May you like
I looked at the empty pitcher of dirty water sitting on the table.
"Try to focus on the positives, Beatrice," I quoted back to her, my voice like ice. "At least you'll finally learn how the real world works."
