Chapter 4 - The Livestream Backfire
Vanessa’s phone was still running. The chat feed was no longer filled with sympathetic emojis or outrage over the 'cruel ex-wife.' It had transformed into a digital feeding frenzy.
Live Chat Feed: GossipQueen: Omg Vanessa’s brother ruined the whole family!! CT_RealEstate: Hard money loans from NJ? They are completely finished. JusticeForMadison: Look at their faces! They thought they were taking her mansion! User9912: Turn off the stream Vanessa, you’re embarrassing yourself!
“Turn it off!” Brandon barked, lunging toward his sister and grabbing her arm. “Vanessa, turn the damn phone off!”
“Don't touch me!” Vanessa screamed, pulling away from him, her face streaked with tears that were dissolving her expensive mascara. “He took my brand! He took everything I built! I have three sponsors waiting for contracts this week, and my accounts are tied up in a fraud investigation?!”
Officer Gallagher stepped between the siblings, his patience officially at an end. “Alright, folks. We’re not doing this on a public street in Westport. Mr. Montgomery, Mrs. Montgomery, you need to instruct these moving trucks to turn around and clear the roadway immediately. You have no legal right to be here, and you are currently creating a public disturbance.”
Patricia looked up at the high stone walls of my house, the house she had openly sneered at when Ryan first brought me home to meet her. She had called it 'charming but rustic,' a quaint little starter home for a girl from a common background. Now, it was a fortress she couldn't enter, a sanctuary that belonged entirely to the woman she had spent five years trying to diminish.
“Madison,” Patricia said, her voice dropping its haughty tone, replacing it with a fragile, manipulative softness that made my skin crawl. “Madison, please. We are adults. We can talk about this. Ryan made a mistake, yes, but we are family. We can’t just leave these trucks in the street. Let us pull into the driveway, just for tonight, until we can sort out the bank details.”
I looked at her—really looked at her. I saw the desperation beneath the diamonds, the cold calculation that never truly went away. If I let them through those gates for even one hour, it would take six months of eviction court to get them out. They would claim tenancy, they would destroy the interior, they would make my life a living hell.
“No, Patricia,” I said, my voice steady and quiet. “We are not family. We haven't been family since the judge signed that decree at two o'clock today. Call Ryan. Ask him where he’s staying tonight, because it certainly isn't here.”
I turned to Officer Gallagher. “Thank you for your assistance, Officer. I’m going inside now.”
“Have a good evening, Ms. Vance,” the officer replied, turning back to the moving crew with a commanding gesture. “Alright, drivers! Let’s move these rigs out. Now!”
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As Victoria and I walked toward the small pedestrian gate, the automated lock clicked open with a reassuring, high-tech buzz. We stepped inside the courtyard, the heavy iron gates swinging shut behind us with a solid, definitive thud.
Through the black bars, I watched Patricia drop her designer sunglasses onto the pavement. She didn't even notice when the heel of Brandon’s boot crushed the expensive frame into the asphalt.
