Chapter 3 - The Reality Check at the Gate
I didn't rush. I walked down the sweeping mahogany staircase with measured, deliberate steps, savoring the profound shift in power. As I stepped out the front doors and began the long walk down the gravel driveway toward the main gates, the muffled sounds of frantic shouting reached my ears.
Through the heavy black iron bars of the gate, I could see Linda’s silver Mercedes parked haphazardly on the curb. Linda was out of the car, slamming her hand against the electronic keypad, her face flushed a furious shade of crimson. Daniel was standing beside her, looking confused and panicked, stabbing at his phone screen.
Standing on the inside of the gate, arms crossed, looking entirely unbothered, were Marcus and another security guard.
"Open this gate immediately!" Linda shrieked, her spa-day blowout blowing wildly in the wind. "Do you know who I am? My son owns this property! I will have you arrested for trespassing!"
"Actually, Linda," my voice cut through the warm afternoon air, calm and carrying easily.
Both of their heads snapped up. I stopped about ten feet from the gate, folding my hands over my pregnant belly.
"Emma!" Daniel gasped, relief washing over his face before quickly morphing into anger. "What the hell is going on? Why is my code not working? Who are these guys? Tell them to open the gate, Mom is exhausted."
I didn't look at Daniel. I looked dead at Linda. "The gate isn't opening because you don't live here anymore. Neither of you do."
Linda let out a screech of incredulous laughter. "Have you lost your hormonal mind? This is Daniel’s house! You can't lock us out of my son's estate because you threw a little temper tantrum over a cake!"
I slowly tilted my head. "Your son's estate? Daniel, do you want to tell her, or should I?"
Daniel swallowed hard, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Emma, come on. Stop this game. Open the gate so we can go inside and talk about this like adults."
"Daniel," I said softly, but the razor edge in my tone made him flinch. "Whose name is on the deed?"
"Emma, please..."
"Say it," I commanded, my voice echoing off the stone pillars. "Whose name is on the property?"
Daniel looked down at his expensive loafers—shoes I had bought him. "Yours," he mumbled.
Linda whipped her head toward her son, her eyes wide with shock. "What? What is she talking about, Daniel? You told me you bought this place! You told me the business paid for it!"
"He lied," I said simply. "The business hasn't turned a profit in three years. I own the house. I own the twelve acres. I own the pavilion where you humiliated me yesterday. And as of an hour ago, I own the locks."
I nodded to Marcus. The massive security guard reached into his jacket and slid a thick manila envelope through the bars of the gate. Daniel caught it reflexively.
"What is this?" Daniel’s voice trembled.
"That is a formal eviction notice, signed by a judge this morning," I explained casually. "Along with a restraining order for Linda, citing her physical aggression at the shower. And, tucked right at the back, are the divorce papers."
Daniel tore open the envelope, his eyes scanning the legal jargon, the color draining rapidly from his face. "Divorce? Emma, no. We have a baby coming! You can't do this! I love you!"
"You love my money, Daniel," I corrected him. "You love the lifestyle I provided. But when your mother smashed a cake into my face and told me our daughter was a disappointment, you stood there in silence. You chose your side."
Linda, recovering from her initial shock, gripped the iron bars, her knuckles turning white. "You selfish, vindictive little witch! You can't just throw us out onto the street! We are family!"
"We were never family, Linda," I replied coldly. "You made that perfectly clear yesterday." I gestured to the neat pile of designer luggage sitting just inside the gate. "Marcus will push your bags through the side pedestrian gate. I suggest you pack them into the Mercedes and leave before I call the actual police to enforce the trespassing order."
Daniel grabbed the bars, pressing his face against the iron. "Emma, please! I'm sorry! I'll stand up to her, I promise! Just let me in!"
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"It's too late for that," I said, turning my back on them. "Oh, and Daniel? Arthur Vance is calling in the $250,000 business loan tomorrow. You might want to let your foremen know that Friday's paychecks are going to bounce."
I didn't stay to watch the absolute collapse of their world. As I walked back up the long driveway toward my peaceful, quiet home, Linda’s hysterical screams and Daniel’s desperate pleas faded into the background, eventually muffled completely when the heavy oak doors shut firmly behind me.
