Chapter 5 - The Eviction of the Mistress
While Evan was being formally escorted out of the hospital by campus security, a black SUV bearing Naomi’s firm’s insignia pulled up outside a luxury townhouse complex in the Capitol Hill neighborhood of Seattle.
Rachel Cole was standing on the second-floor balcony, holding a mug of coffee in one hand while her seven-year-old son, Mason, played with a toy truck inside the living room.
She had been expecting Evan by 10:00 AM. He had promised to stop by with groceries and discuss their plans for the weekend—plans that supposedly involved telling me that their "arrangement" was becoming permanent.
Instead, a burly private investigator named Marcus Vance and an official King County sheriff’s deputy stepped out of the SUV and walked straight up to the front entrance of Unit 204.
Ding-dong.
Rachel frowned, checked her watch, and walked down the internal stairs to open the door, expecting Evan to be standing there without his keys.
Instead, she pulled the door open to find a stern-looking sheriff's deputy holding a legal document.
"Ms. Rachel Cole?" the deputy asked.
Rachel’s smile faltered. "Yes? Who are you? What is this?"
"Notice of immediate lease termination and eviction writ issued under commercial asset forfeiture," the deputy stated formally, handing her the papers. "The property owner, Bennett Holdings LLC, has revoked all third-party occupancy agreements effective immediately. You have forty-eight hours to vacate the premises."
Rachel stared at the paper, her face turning pale. "Eviction? What are you talking about? Evan pays the rent! Evan owns this—this arrangement! He told me his wife didn't know anything—"
"Evan doesn't own anything anymore, Ms. Cole," Marcus Vance said, stepping out from behind the deputy with a smug, knowing smile. "And as of twenty minutes ago, his corporate credit cards have all been deactivated. I suggest you call a moving truck, because the locks on this unit are being changed at noon."
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Inside the apartment, young Mason dropped his toy truck, looking up with wide, frightened eyes at the shouting at the front door.
Rachel dropped her coffee mug. It shattered against the hardwood floor, sending brown liquid and porcelain shards splashing across her designer shoes—a small, fitting preview of the empire of lies collapsing around her feet.
