Chapter 1 - The Eviction of the Parasites
The tires of Jason’s silver Porsche screeched against the slick concrete of the penthouse parking garage. The engine roared, echoing through the subterranean cavern as he cut the ignition, leaving the vehicle shuddering in the dim light. Beside him, Linda adjusted her oversized sunglasses—a vain attempt to hide her bloodshot, panicked eyes—and clutched her genuine crocodile-skin handbag like a shield.
"It’s just a scare tactic, Jason," Linda snapped, her voice carrying that sharp, shrill edge he had spent his whole life obeying. "That weak little girl doesn't have the stomach for a real fight. She’s probably hiding at her sister’s place, crying into a pillow. We go upstairs, we change the locks, and we call Richard to file the emergency mental incompetency papers."
"Mom, shut up," Jason spat, wiping a sheen of cold sweat from his forehead. "The building manager sounded terrified. He didn't sound like he was dealing with a crying woman."
They stepped into the private high-speed elevator, Jason pressing his keycard against the reader for the top floor—Penthouse A. The elevators in the Meridian Towers were designed for absolute discretion, taking high-profile residents directly into their private foyer without stopping at intermediate floors.
When the gold-trimmed doors slid open, they didn't step onto the plush Italian marble foyer.
They stepped into a war zone.
Three burly men in black tactical uniforms stood in the center of the living room, carrying heavy rolls of reinforced industrial plastic and industrial-grade packing crates. Standing beside the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, overlooking the skyline of the financial district, was Marcus Vance—the most feared, high-priced asset-protection litigator in the entire state.
Beside Marcus stood four armed private security officers, their hands folded neatly over their tactical belts.
"What the hell is this?!" Jason roared, charging into the room, his face flushed with sudden, uncontrolled rage. "Who allowed you people into my home?! This is private property! Get the hell out before I call the police!"
Marcus Vance slowly turned around, adjusting his gold cufflinks with deliberate calm. He reached into his leather briefcase, pulled out a thick blue legal folder, and extended it toward Jason.
"Mr. Carter," Marcus said, his voice flat, professional, and entirely devoid of emotion. "You are currently committing criminal trespass on property owned exclusively by the Vance & Vance Asset Revocable Trust. You have five minutes to collect your personal identification documents and leave these premises."
Linda shoved her way past Jason, her sharp heel clicking violently against the hardwood. "Are you insane?! My son is the owner of this penthouse! His name is on the mortgage!"
"Was on the deed, Mrs. Carter," Marcus corrected smoothly, picking up a tablet screen and tapping it twice. "At 7:15 AM this morning, utilizing the emergency financial power of attorney executed three years ago—and verified by your wife's legal team following the physical assault documented at your residence—Mrs. Clara Carter exercised her right of absolute property consolidation. Since the entirety of the down payment, the mortgage funding, and the property taxes were paid exclusively through her private ancestral inheritance, your name was legally severed under Section 42 of the State Marital Asset Protection Act."
Jason froze. The blood drained from his face so fast he looked like a corpse. "She... she couldn't do that. That takes weeks!"
"It takes weeks for normal people, Mr. Carter," Marcus said with a cold, predatory smile. "It takes twenty minutes when a husband sends a text message confessing to a conspiracy to extort property from a hospitalized victim of domestic violence."
Marcus signaled to the security team. Two officers stepped forward, moving with practiced efficiency to block the hall leading to the master suite.
"Where is she?!" Linda shrieked, her voice pitching up into a hysterical tear. "Where is that ungrateful little bitch?! She took three hundred thousand dollars from my son’s business account last month! She stole from us!"
"You mean the three hundred thousand dollars your son illegally transferred from her private trust to cover your personal gambling debts at the Grand Casino?" Marcus asked, pulling out a SECOND stack of documents. "The State Financial Crimes Bureau was formally notified of that transfer at 8:00 AM today. A federal freezing order has been placed on all bank accounts bearing the name Jason Carter, Linda Carter, or Carter Enterprises."
Jason let out a strangled groan, staggering back against the kitchen island. "No... no, no, no! My payroll clearing goes through today! If those accounts are frozen, the firm goes under by Friday!"
"Then I suggest you find a very good criminal defense attorney, Mr. Carter," Marcus said, looking down at his gold wristwatch. "Your five minutes began two minutes ago. Security will escort you to the service elevator."
"I'm not leaving my house!" Jason screamed, lunging toward Marcus.
Before he could take two steps, the lead security officer grabbed Jason by the shoulder, twisted his arm behind his back with practiced brutality, and forced him down onto his knees against the floor.
"Let go of my son!" Linda shrieked, raising her crocodile handbag to strike the officer.
The second officer grabbed Linda’s wrist, squeezing just enough to make her drop the handbag, which burst open, scattering gold lipstick cases, prescription pills, and stacks of fresh fifty-dollar bills across the marble tile.
May you like
"Mr. Carter," Marcus said, leaning down until he was eye-level with the writhing husband. "Clara left you one final message. She said to tell you that the glass coffee table you pushed her through was worth forty thousand dollars. She’s keeping the Porsche to pay for it."
The security officers hauled Jason and Linda to their feet, dragging them down the service corridor toward the dark freight elevator at the rear of the building, where two large cardboard boxes containing their clothes had been dumped on the concrete floor.
