Chapter 4 - THE EVICITON OF LINCOLN PARK
By noon, news of Daniel Mercer’s dramatic arrest at the headquarters of Mercer Development had exploded across Chicago’s financial news outlets.
#MercerDevelopmentTakeover and #ClaraMitchellReturns were trending nationwide. News helicopters hovered over the corporate tower, capturing footage of Daniel and Arthur Vance being loaded into police cruisers in handcuffs.
Meanwhile, I sat in the rear seat of my Lincoln Navigator as Frank drove through the tree-lined, affluent neighborhood of Lincoln Park.
We pulled up to a magnificent four-story historic brick townhouse—the residence my late father had purchased thirty years ago, and where Daniel’s mother, Evelyn, had been living rent-free for six years.
Parked along the curb were two large commercial moving vans and four private security guards wearing black uniforms.
When I stepped out of the car, Evelyn was standing on the front porch in a silk robe, screaming hysterically at two movers who were carrying a gold-framed Victorian mirror down the front steps.
“Stop touching my things, you filthy animals!” Evelyn shrieked, waving her manicured hands wildly. “I am Evelyn Mercer! My son owns this house! I will have you all thrown in prison!”
I walked up the stone walkway, my heels clicking sharply against the granite steps.
Evelyn turned and saw me. Her face contorted into a terrifying mask of rage. She marched down the steps, pointing a sharp finger directly at my face.
“You evil, demonic creature!” Evelyn screamed, her voice cracking with fury. “You put my son in jail! You humiliated our family on television! I spoke to his lawyer twenty minutes ago! He told me what you did!”
“Hello, Evelyn,” I said calmly, standing on the elevated porch steps, looking down at her. “I see you haven't washed the barbecue sauce off your dress yet.”
“Shut your mouth!” she spat, her eyes bulging. “You can't do this! Daniel owns this property! He gave me the deed six years ago as a gift for my sixty-fifth birthday!”
Margaret Shaw stepped up beside me, pulling a certified property deed from her legal bag.
“Mr. Daniel Mercer never owned this property, Mrs. Mercer,” Margaret announced cleanly. “The townhouse is registered under Mitchell Real Estate Holdings LLC. Your son forged a quitclaim deed five years ago to make you believe he transferred ownership to you. That forged deed was officially voided by the Cook County Registrar two hours ago.”
Evelyn froze. She looked from Margaret to me, her breath catching in her throat as if she had been slapped across the face.
“Forged...?” she whispered, her voice suddenly trembling. “No... no, Daniel wouldn't lie to me. He’s my son! He’s a successful man!”
“Your son is a convicted fraudster who used your greed to keep you quiet while he stole from my family,” I said, my voice cold and unyielding. “You have thirty minutes to gather your personal clothing and medication.”
“Thirty minutes?!” Evelyn shrieked, clutching her pearl necklace. “Where am I supposed to go?! All my furniture is in this house! My life is in this house!”
“Your furniture was purchased using embezzled corporate credit lines from Mitchell Construction,” I replied softly. “It is currently being seized as federal evidence. As for where you are supposed to go... I suggest you check into a cheap motel near the county jail where your son is currently sleeping on a steel cot.”
Two movers carried a large leather armchair past her, loading it into the back of the moving van.
Evelyn collapsed onto the stone steps, burying her face in her hands, letting out a pathetic, desperate wail of despair.
“You monster...” she sobbed, looking up at me through tears that ran black with mascara down her wrinkled cheeks. “You acted like a sweet, obedient girl for ten years... You pretended to love us...”
I looked down at her—the woman who had spent a decade treating me like a servant in my own home, criticizing my clothes, mocking my lack of parents, and encouraging her son’s cruelty.
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“I did love Daniel, Evelyn,” I said, turning toward my car. “And that was my only mistake. But my father taught me one thing before he died: when a structure is rotten at the foundation, you don't renovate it. You tear it down to the ground.”
I stepped into the back of the Navigator, closed the door, and left Evelyn Mercer weeping on the cold stone steps of the home she had stolen.
