Chapter 5 - The Fall of the House of Miller
By noon that same Tuesday, the fallout from Julian’s public arrest had sent shockwaves through both the financial district and New York high society.
The story was picked up by The Wall Street Journal and local news outlets: “Vance Financial Executive Arrested at Corporate Headquarters for $220K Embezzlement and Extortion scheme.” A leaked video of Julian sobbing in handcuffs while his mother fainted on the marble floor went viral on TikTok, racking up three million views in four hours under the hashtag #FourteenHourMarriage.
While Julian sat in a cold cell at Manhattan Central Booking unable to post his $100,000 cash bail, I accompanied Sophia and a team of private security personnel to Victoria’s suburban home in Westchester.
The driveway was cluttered with delivery vans and moving trucks. Victoria was standing on the front lawn, her hair wild, wearing a stained bathrobe, screaming at two sheriff’s deputies who were placing orange court-ordered foreclosure tags on the front door.
“You can’t do this!” Victoria shrieked, clutching an armful of designer coats. “This is my home! I’ve lived here for twenty-two years!”
The lead deputy looked at his clipboard as my black SUV pulled up to the curb. I stepped out, dressed in a sleek charcoal trench coat, holding a pair of leather gloves.
“Mrs. Miller,” the deputy said calmly. “The deed holder—Vance Asset Management—has executed an emergency receivership order due to unpaid property taxes exceeding eighty-five thousand dollars and unauthorized mortgage restructuring. You have ninety minutes to clear your personal clothing.”
Victoria saw me walking across the lawn and lost whatever sanity she had left. She charged toward me, her manicured nails clawing at the air. “You evil, malicious little snake! You destroyed my son! You stole our house! You set us up!”
Sophia stepped between us, holding up her phone, which was recording in high-definition. “Step back, Mrs. Miller. Assaulting an officer of the court while under an active eviction order carries an automatic thirty-day sentence.”
Victoria stopped two feet away, trembling violently, her chest heaving as tears smeared her makeup across her face. “Elena... please,” she whimpered, her venom suddenly dissolving into pathetic desperation. “Julian is in jail! They won’t let me see him! The bank froze my credit cards! I have nowhere to go! My sister won’t answer my calls!”
“You should have thought about that before you coached your son to abuse me on our wedding morning, Victoria,” I said, looking down at her with absolute indifference. “You told him he had to 'control me from day one' so I wouldn't walk all over him. How did that strategy work out for you?”
“I was wrong!” Victoria sobbed, dropping to her knees on the damp grass, grabbing the hem of my coat. “I was wrong! Please, just give us a chance! We’ll give back the wedding gifts! We’ll pay back the money! Just don't throw me out on the street!”
May you like
I looked down at the woman who had smiled so smugly twenty-four hours ago while I wiped rancid grease from my face. I pulled my coat hem smoothly out of her grip.
“You have eighty-five minutes left to gather your clothes, Victoria,” I said, turning my back on her. “I suggest you pack a cleaning rag. You’re going to need to earn your keep.”
