Chapter 6 - The Confrontation
At 4:30 PM, I arrived back at the Bayside Heights estate.
This time, I wasn't alone. Beside me was Deputy Sheriff Marcus Vance, a sharp-eyed man who had known me since high school, and three other uniform officers. We parked our cruisers along the pristine gravel driveway, their blue and red lights flashing silently against the grand white columns of the mansion.
The front door opened before we could knock.
Gertrude stepped out, her eyes red, her hair messy. She was no longer wearing the diamond necklace or the expensive silk gown. She looked like a woman who had spent the last twelve hours frantically calling banks only to hear the same cold, automated message: Account Frozen.
Behind her stood Prudence, clutching a designer leather handbag, her face filled with a mixture of terror and furious resentment.
"Liam!" Gertrude screamed, rushing down the steps. "How could you do this?! The bank told me my cards are declined! They frozen the household account! I couldn't even buy gas for my car!"
"You don't have a car, Gertrude," I said, stepping out of my cruiser. "The Mercedes in the garage is registered to my company. And as of 5:00 PM today, you don't have a house either."
"You can't evict us!" Prudence yelled, stepping forward, her voice high and hysterical. "The house is in Mom’s name! We have the deed! We'll sue you for everything you have!"
Deputy Vance stepped forward, holding a stamped legal document. "Ma'am, I am executing an emergency court-ordered freeze and temporary eviction pending a forensic investigation into deed fraud. We have a sworn affidavit from Mr. Arthur Pendelton stating that the notary signature on the deed transfer was forged."
Gertrude looked at the document, her face turning a sickly, mottled gray. "No... no, Arthur wouldn't do that. He’s our friend..."
"Arthur is a lawyer, Mother," I said, stepping closer. "He cares about his license more than your lies. The game is over. Pack your personal clothes into suitcases. The furniture, the art, the jewelry—everything paid for with my money—stays in this house. If you touch a single item of value, the Deputy here will arrest you on the spot."
"Liam, please!" Gertrude sobbed, falling to her knees on the stone steps. "I am your mother! You can't leave us on the street! We have no money! Where are we supposed to go?"
"You can go to the same place you sent my wife and son," I said, my voice cold, flat, and entirely devoid of mercy. "There’s a lovely concrete room behind the kitchen. It has a plastic stool, a bucket, and some leftover rice. I’m sure you’ll find it very comfortable."
"You monster!" Prudence shrieked, lunging toward me, but one of the sheriff's deputies quickly stepped in her way, his hand resting on his holster.
"Keep your distance, ma'am," the officer warned.
For the next forty-five minutes, we watched as the two women who had lived like queens for five years packed their designer clothes into cheap cardboard boxes. They had to leave behind the luxury watches, the diamonds, and the keys to the Mercedes.
As they walked down the long driveway, dragging their suitcases behind them in the dirt, the wealthy neighbors who had partied in my house the night before stood at their gates, watching them with cold, silent curiosity.
The news of Gertrude’s fall had already spread. In Bayside Heights, there is nothing more toxic than a socialite who has been exposed as a thief.
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I locked the massive front doors of the mansion, placing the new keys in my pocket. The house was empty now. The lights were off. The music had died.
But for the first time, the air felt clean.
