Chapter 6 - The Lake Forest Eviction
The Harlan estate in Lake Forest was twenty acres of formal French gardens, limestone terraces, and a forty-room mansion that looked out over Lake Michigan with the cold superiority of a nineteenth-century fortress.
At ten o'clock on Monday morning, three white moving vans with the logo of the Illinois State Sheriff’s Department drove through the wrought-iron gates. Behind them came two black SUVs carrying Ethan’s legal representatives and an asset management team from Chicago Title and Trust.
Margaret Harlan stood on the limestone terrace, her gold-handled stick held firmly in both hands. Her face was a mask of cold, unyielding rage as she watched the deputies climb out of their vehicles.
"This is private property," Margaret said as the lead deputy, a veteran sergeant named Miller, stepped onto the stone stairs. "I am Margaret Harlan. This estate is owned by the Harlan Family Trust, and I have not authorized any execution of movement on this land."
"The trust was dissolved at nine o'clock this morning, Mrs. Harlan," Thomas Reed said, stepping out from the rear SUV. He wore a heavy gray overcoat, his leather briefcase held firmly in his left hand. "Under Section 12 of the trust charter, the principal funder—Ethan Harlan—retained the unilateral right of asset recall if the trustees were found to be in breach of fiduciary governance. The federal indictment filed against you on Friday night for conspiracy and wire fraud satisfies the breach clause."
Margaret’s eyes flashed with a sudden, aristocratic venom. "Ethan would not dare turn me out of this house. I built this family. I built him."
"Ethan isn't here, Mrs. Harlan," Reed said, sliding a thick legal document from his briefcase and handing it to Sergeant Miller. "He’s currently at the federal building signing the final deposition against Claire Vance and Aegis Logistics. This is a formal eviction notice. You have three hours to remove your personal effects—clothing, jewelry, and secondary items listed under Schedule B. The house, the furniture, the art, and the land return to the principal owner effective immediately."
Margaret looked past Reed toward the moving vans, where four workers were already carrying large, empty cardboard boxes up the limestone stairs. "The art? The original Monet in the dining room belongs to my mother’s estate!"
"The Monet was purchased with funds from the Harlan Foundation in twenty-fourteen, Mrs. Harlan," Reed corrected smoothly. "The foundation has been placed into federal receivership under the supervision of the internal revenue service. Every piece of asset purchased through that fund is currently frozen pending the outcome of the criminal trial."
"You are a vulture, Mr. Reed," Margaret said, her voice dropping into a hiss.
"I’m an attorney, Mrs. Harlan," Reed said, his smile thin and professional. "And today, I’m just the delivery boy. The workers will begin with the master bedroom. I suggest you find a coat. It’s going to get very cold in there once the gas lines are transferred."
Two hours later, Margaret Harlan walked through the iron gates of the estate for the last time. She didn't have her black town car; the corporate lease had been terminated at noon. She was carrying a single, vintage Louis Vuitton suitcase and a small leather jewelry box.
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She stood on the county road, her Chanel suit looking increasingly ridiculous against the gray, winter sky, waiting for a taxi that had been called from a local station in Waukegan.
As the first snowflakes of the year began to fall, she looked back through the iron bars at the massive stone house. A crane was currently lifting the large brass letters that spelt HARLAN from the entrance pillars, leaving nothing but the cold, bare stone.
