Chapter 2 - THE EVICTION OF ARROGANCE
By 2:00 PM the same afternoon, the fallout from Alistair’s sudden downfall had spread like wildfire through the upper-echelon social circles of Phoenix.
I drove back to our gated community in Paradise Valley, driving my humble seven-year-old sedan while Marcus’s legal team followed behind in two black SUVs.
When we turned down our palm-tree-lined driveway, I saw my mother-in-law, Sharon, and my sister-in-law, Piper, sitting on the velvet sofas in the formal living room, drinking iced tea and laughing loudly while eleven-year-old Mason played video games on his brand-new tablet.
The front door opened, and I walked in, followed by Marcus and four moving contractors carrying heavy wooden crates.
Sharon set her crystal glass down on the marble coffee table, frowning with deep irritation as she looked at me. "Nicole! What is the meaning of all these rough men barging into the house? And where is Alistair? He was supposed to bring over the catering vouchers for Mason's upcoming soccer banquet."
I stood in the center of the double-height foyer, looking at the woman who had sat at my dining table yesterday and approved of my son being slapped across the face.
"Alistair isn't coming home today, Sharon," I said cleanly.
Piper jumped up from the sofa, holding her phone. "What do you mean he isn't coming home? I've been trying to call his corporate card to pay for Mason's private tutoring fees, and the transaction was declined! What did you do, Nicole? Did you mess with his accounts out of spite because of yesterday?"
"Alistair doesn't have a corporate card anymore, Piper," Uncle Marcus said, stepping forward into the foyer and handing Sharon a folded white document stamped with a sheriff’s red seal. "And as of 3:00 PM today, this residence is being repossessed by the Vance Asset Management Corporation."
Sharon’s jaw dropped. She looked at the paper, then laughed nervously, her manicured hands trembling. "This is ridiculous! This house belongs to my son! Alistair bought this property for 4.2 million dollars six years ago! He showed me the deed!"
"He showed you a mortgage agreement that was fully underwritten and guaranteed by my brother, Thomas Vance," Marcus corrected smoothly. "Alistair hasn't paid a single dollar of principal on this estate. The monthly payments were drawn directly from an operating account funded by Vance Global Holdings. Since the parent company has revoked its credit guarantees due to gross personal misconduct, the property has defaulted."
"Misconduct?!" Sharon screeched, her voice rising into an octave of pure hysteria. "Because he disciplined his own child?! That boy was being ungrateful! He was begging like a street brat!"
"That boy," I said, stepping right up to my mother-in-law, my eyes fixed on hers with an intensity that made her shrink back against the sofa cushions, "is my son. His name is Nolan. And the only ungrateful, parasitic street brats in this house are the people who sat at my table, ate food paid for by my late-night sewing work, and cheered when a little child was hit across the face."
"Nicole!" Piper gasped, holding Mason close to her side. "How dare you speak to my mother like that!"
"Pack your bags, Piper," I said, pointing to the grand double staircase. "You have thirty minutes to remove your personal clothing and items from this house. Every piece of furniture, every painting, every vehicle parked in the five-car garage, and every electronic device purchased through company accounts—including that tablet in your son's hands—is being inventoried by court bailiffs right now."
Mason clutched the tablet to his chest, looking terrified. "Mom! He gave this to me! Uncle Alistair said it was mine!"
"Hand it over, son," one of the uniformed sheriff's deputies said calmly, stepping forward with a plastic evidence bag. "It was purchased using a corporate credit card that was flagged for fraudulent misallocation this morning."
Piper wept hysterically as the deputy gently took the tablet from Mason’s hands and sealed it inside the bag.
"This is a nightmare!" Sharon sobbed, collapsing onto her daughter's shoulder as two moving contractors began tagging the Italian leather sofas with barcoded yellow stickers. "Where are we supposed to go?! Alistair was paying for my luxury retirement apartment in Scottsdale!"
"I suggest you look into municipal public housing, Mrs. Whitmore," Marcus said coldly, pulling out his pocket watch. "Your thirty minutes began two minutes ago."
As Sharon and Piper scrambled up the stairs in a frenzy of panic, screaming and weeping, I walked out onto the back patio.
Nolan was sitting by the swimming pool, holding his old, worn teddy bear, watching the blue water ripple in the afternoon breeze. His little face still bore the faint yellowing outline of the bruise on his left cheek, but his eyes were calm.
My father, Thomas, was sitting beside him on the wooden bench, whittling a small piece of pine wood with his pocketknife, carving it into the shape of a little toy boat.
"Grandpa?" Nolan asked softly, looking up at his grandfather.
"Yes, buddy?" Thomas replied, his gentle, deep voice sounding like warm thunder.
"Is Dad going to be mad at us?"
May you like
Thomas set his pocketknife down, reached over, and pulled Nolan into a tight, warm hug against his plaid flannel shirt.
"Your dad will never be able to hurt you or your mother ever again, Nolan," Thomas whispered into the boy's hair. "I gave him seven years to prove he was a real father to you. He chose to be a monster instead. And now, the storm has arrived."
