Chapter 3 - The Five-Minute Storm
Outside, the crunch of gravel signaled the arrival of the black SUV. Four men in dark suits stepped out, followed by a local sheriff’s deputy I had known since Maya was in diapers.
Beatrice looked out the window, her hand trembling against the glass. "What is this? You're ruining our lives over a few chores?"
"Chores?" I laughed, a sound devoid of mirth. "You stripped my daughter of her dignity, starved her, and treated her like a slave while you ate off her labor. You aren't being ruined over chores. You're being evicted from the life you stole."
The door opened. The lead attorney, a man I’d paid a retainer larger than Ethan’s annual salary, stepped into the kitchen. He didn't even look at the guests. He handed a stack of documents to Ethan.
"Mr. Sterling, you are served with an immediate notice of breach. You have thirty minutes to vacate the premises. All personal items not listed on the original inventory—which I have here—must remain. That includes the wedding china, the furniture, and the jewelry currently on your mother's wrists."
Beatrice’s hands flew to her throat, shielding her pearls.
May you like
Ethan turned to me, his voice a pathetic whimper. "We have nowhere to go. It's Christmas week!"
"It’s funny," I said, picking up a shard of the shattered plate from the floor. "That’s exactly what Maya said when you told her she couldn't visit me last month. You're dramatic, Ethan. You really like acting fragile."
