Chapter 4 - The Eviction of David Coleman
The desert sun was setting over Scottsdale, casting long, bloody shadows across the manicured lawns of the exclusive residential community where David’s luxury condo sat.
David stood in the center of the spacious, marble-tiled living room, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his face still pale and drawn from the disaster at the maternity clinic. The house was dead quiet. He had spent the last four hours trying to call Marcus, his business partner, but every call had gone straight to voicemail.
Finally, a key turned in the front lock.
The door opened, and Linda and Megan walked in, their faces exhausted, their arms filled with shopping bags containing the baby items they had spent the last three months collecting. Without a word, Megan began throwing the blue blankets, the stuffed animals, and the silver baby rattles into a large black trash bag.
"We need to call the lawyer, David," Linda said, her voice shaking as she sank onto the white leather sofa. "We need to sue her for fraud. She took the deposit on the condo! She took the Mercedes lease! We paid for her medical care!"
"We can't sue her, Mom," David said, his voice flat and hollow. "The lawyers say she has no assets. She’s twenty-four years old, her credit is ruined, and her family lives in a trailer park in Idaho. If we sue her, we’ll just spend more money on legal fees we don't have."
"And what about Marcus?" Megan hissed, tying the trash bag with a violent yank. "He was your partner, David! He knew you were trying to build the company's brand around the 'family legacy'! He slept with your mistress in your own vacation cabin!"
"Marcus is gone," David said, his voice dropping into a whisper. "He resigned from the firm this afternoon. He’s already transferred his shares to a third-party buyer. I don't even know who owns fifty percent of my own company anymore."
Before Linda could reply, the sharp, authoritative knock of the front doorbell echoed through the high-ceilinged room.
David frowned, walking over to the door. "It’s probably the locks. I called the locksmith three hours ago."
But when he opened the door, there was no locksmith on the porch.
Standing in the dim evening light were two men in dark gray suits, holding leather clipboards. Behind them sat a large white moving van with the logo of a national relocation service.
"David Coleman?" the first man asked, his voice entirely professional, devoid of any personal feeling.
"Yes," David said, his brow furrowing. "Who are you?"
"I am Arthur Pendelton, representing Bernberg Asset Management LLC," the man said, sliding a thick document from his clipboard and handing it to David. "We are the primary leaseholder of this property. We are here to notify you that your sublease agreement has officially terminated as of 5:00 p.m. today, pursuant to the non-renewal clause signed by the primary lessee, Catherine Von Bernberg."
David’s heart stopped. "What? Non-renewal? No, you have the wrong address. My wife... my ex-wife, Catherine, didn't own this place. We leased it through an agency—"
"The agency is a subsidiary of Bernberg Asset Management," the man interrupted, pointing to the document. "And as of forty-five minutes ago, the final walk-through was completed by our local representative. Because you are no longer legally married to the primary lessee, and because your name is not listed on the master lease, you are currently trespassing on private property."
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"Trespassing?!" Megan yelled, running to the door. "This is our family's condo! We’ve lived here for three years! You can't just throw us out!"
"The moving crew is here to assist you in removing your personal items, Mrs. Vance," Mr. Pendelton said, gesturing to the men in the van. "You have exactly two hours to vacate the premises before the Scottsdale Police Department is called to escort you from the property. I suggest you pack quickly."
