Chapter 3 - The Treason of Suzanne
At 3:30 PM, the sun over Biscayne Bay was brutal, reflecting off the turquoise water and the white concrete of the luxury apartment complexes. Inside Skylar’s third-floor apartment, the air conditioning was humming at a cool sixty-eight degrees.
Suzanne Foster sat on Skylar’s cream-colored Italian leather sofa, her long, manicured legs crossed over the armrest. She was wearing a silk designer dress, her blonde hair perfectly blown out, sipping a glass of expensive white wine she had taken from Skylar’s private collection. On the glass coffee table lay three of Skylar’s most expensive designer handbags—handbags Skylar had purchased as rare rewards for her years of grueling logistics work.
"Where the hell is she, Derek?" Suzanne snapped into her phone, her voice dripping with irritation. "I’ve been sitting here for forty-five minutes. The kitchen is a complete mess. There’s coffee all over the wall and broken ceramic on the floor. It’s disgusting. I thought you said she was handled."
On the other end of the line, Derek was driving his luxury sedan back from his office, his tie still draped over his shoulder. His brow was furrowed in frustration. "She’s not answering her phone, Suzanne. I’ve called her twelve times. She’s probably hiding in the bathroom crying. Just take the handbags you want. When I get there, I’ll find her bank card myself. She doesn't have the guts to leave."
"Well, she better hurry up," Suzanne sneered, picking up a limited-edition quilted Chanel bag from the table. "The boutique payment is due by five, and if I don't get her routing number, the supplier is going to cancel my entire autumn inventory. I’m not letting a basic logistics clerk ruin my business reputation."
Suddenly, a heavy, synchronized pounding rattled the solid oak front door of the apartment.
“Miami-Dade Police Department! Open the door immediately!”
Suzanne froze, her wine glass hovering near her lips. She looked toward the foyer, confused. "Derek? Are you at the door? Why did you bring the cops?"
"I’m not there yet," Derek said, his voice instantly sharpening with alarm. "What are you talking about?"
Suzanne stood up, smoothing her silk dress, and walked to the door. She unlocked it and pulled it open, her face arranged into an expression of haughty annoyance. Standing in the hallway were two uniformed police officers, flanked by a massive, broad-shouldered man carrying a professional locksmith kit. Behind them stood Victoria Vance’s senior legal associate, a sharp young man named David.
"Can I help you officers?" Suzanne asked, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "Is there an issue with the building parking?"
"Are you Suzanne Foster?" the lead officer asked, his face expressionless as he held up a certified legal document with a bright red court seal.
"Yes, I am. This is my brother’s apartment—"
"This is the property of Skylar Bennett," the officer interrupted coldly. "A judge of the Eleventh Judicial Circuit has just issued an Emergency Injunction for Protection Against Domestic Violence against Derek Foster. Furthermore, we have an emergency writ of total possession for the property owner, Skylar Bennett. You are ordered to vacate these premises immediately."
Suzanne’s jaw dropped. Her haughty demeanor vanished, replaced by a sudden, ugly panic. "What? No! You don't understand! My brother lives here! Skylar is his wife, she’s just throwing a temper tantrum because they had a little argument this morning—"
"Miss Foster," David, the legal associate, stepped forward, holding a legal folder. "You have exactly two minutes to gather your personal purse and leave. If you touch any of the three designer handbags currently sitting on the coffee table, or if you attempt to remove any property belonging to Mrs. Bennett, you will be arrested on site for grand theft and criminal trespass. This apartment is now under total legal lockdown."
"Derek! Derek, help me!" Suzanne screamed into her phone, which was still active in her hand. "The cops are here! They’re kicking me out! They’re saying Skylar filed an injunction!"
In his car, Derek slammed his hand against the steering wheel, nearly swerving into the next lane. "Put the lawyer on the phone! Give it to them!"
The officer reached out, took the phone from Suzanne’s hand, and pressed it to his ear. "Mr. Foster? This is Officer Ramirez. Do not come to this property. If you enter the perimeter of this building, you will be in violation of a standing protection order and will be remanded into state custody immediately. Hang up and contact your legal counsel."
The officer disconnected the call and handed the phone back to a trembling, pale Suzanne.
"Time's up, Miss Foster," the officer said, stepping into the foyer. "Step out of the unit."
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As Suzanne was pushed out into the hallway, crying with rage and humiliation, the locksmith stepped into the apartment. Within ten minutes, the old locks were drilled out and replaced with a high-security, uncopyable digital deadbolt system.
Skylar watched from a black SUV parked down the street, her hand gently touching her bandaged face. She watched her sister-in-law stand on the sidewalk of Biscayne Bay, surrounded by her expensive shopping bags, looking completely small and exposed to the world. It was the first time in six years that Suzanne wasn't smiling. And it wouldn't be the last.
