Chapter 1 - The First Phone Call
The rain had softened into a gentle drizzle over the long driveway. The red taillights of the taxi carrying Scott and Bernice vanished past the grand iron gates, taking three years of emotional abuse and humiliation with them. Beside me, Buster sat down on the dry cedar porch, letting out a soft sigh and resting his heavy head across my boots.
I looked down at my phone. The screen illuminated the name Harrison Vance — Family Wealth & Estate Counsel.
I pressed the button and placed the phone to my ear.
"Caroline?" Harrison answered on the second ring, his sharp, veteran legal voice crisp despite the late hour. "I was expecting your call three years ago. Did the experiment end?"
"It ended twenty minutes ago, Harrison," I said, my voice steady, stripped of all the quiet submission I had worn for three years. "I’m done watching Scott pretend to be a mogul on my dime. I’m done letting his mother treat my family like dirt."
Harrison let out a slow, heavy breath. "I’ve been waiting to hear those words. What are your instructions?"
"I want the eviction formally logged with the county sheriff’s office tonight so they can’t attempt a legal reentry," I said, walking back into the foyer, stepping over the shattered glass of Scott’s fake eighty-thousand-dollar tequila bottle. "Second, freeze every supplementary credit card issued under the Vance Global trust. Third, initiate the foreclosure process on Scott’s logistics company through the shell entity—Vanguard Holdings."
A low chuckle came from Harrison’s end of the line. "Vanguard Holdings holds ninety-two percent of his corporate debt, Caroline. If we pull the credit line, his firm goes into receivership by noon tomorrow. He won't even be able to pay the lease on his downtown office."
"Good," I said, looking down at the ruined carpet soaked in cheap liquor. "Let him see what 'self-made' actually feels like when my money isn't holding up the walls."
"And your father?" Harrison asked softly, his tone shifting from corporate shark to old family friend. "Does Samuel know what happened today?"
I swallowed hard, a sudden wave of warmth breaking through the icy rage in my chest. "No. He’s still in Oak Ridge. He thinks I’m eating the boiled chicken he sent on the morning bus."
"Call him, Caroline," Harrison advised gently. "The man walked three kilometers in the cold to send you food because he thought you were struggling. He deserves to know his daughter isn't hiding anymore."
"I will," I promised. "First thing in the morning. Prepare the receivership papers, Harrison. I’m going to my father’s town tomorrow, and when I come back, I want Scott’s name erased from every asset I own."
I ended the call and walked upstairs to the master bedroom. For three years, this room had been decorated according to Bernice’s pompous taste—gilded mirrors, uncomfortable velvet chairs, and framed photos of Scott posing at golf tournaments he hadn't actually won.
May you like
I pulled open the mahogany closet, grabbed Scott’s remaining designer suits, his gold-plated cufflinks, and his Italian leather shoes, and threw them out onto the second-floor balcony into the rain.
Then I sat down on the edge of the bed, pulled Buster up beside me, and slept better than I had in three years.
