Chapter 3 - The Eviction Notice
At 11:30 a.m., three black SUVs pulled into the sprawling, circular driveway of my estate.
According to the high-definition security footage I was watching live from my iPad in the hotel suite, Grant was standing in the chef's kitchen in his bathrobe, his face pale and frantic as he yelled into his cell phone, desperately trying to reach his lawyers. Tessa was lounging by the heated infinity pool in one of my expensive silk robes, sipping a mimosa and looking entirely unbothered by the chaos, secure in her delusion that she had successfully replaced me.
Marcus stepped out of the lead vehicle, holding a thick leather portfolio, flanked by four armed, private security contractors and a local sheriff's deputy assigned to enforce the emergency eviction notice.
Grant rushed out the heavy oak front doors, his face purple with rage and absolute terror. “You can’t do this! You have no right to be here! This is my house! I have marital rights!”
“Actually, sir, you are a tenant-at-will in a property owned entirely by the Vanguard Family Trust,” Marcus stated coldly, handing Grant a thick stack of certified legal documents. “Your tenancy was officially terminated last night when you introduced an unauthorized occupant and deliberately created a hostile, abusive environment for the primary beneficiary. You have exactly forty-five minutes to vacate the premises before you are arrested for criminal trespassing.”
Tessa came running around the side of the house, clutching the silk robe tightly around her waist, her face a mask of sheer, unadulterated panic. “Grant? What is happening? They’re telling me to pack my things in garbage bags! They said I have to leave!”
Grant’s mother and brother, who had happily sat at my dining table and watched me be humiliated the night before, were escorted out the front doors by the private security team, carrying their belongings in plastic storage totes.
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“Grant, do something!” his mother shrieked, thoroughly humiliated as the wealthy neighbors began to step out onto their manicured lawns to watch the spectacular, highly public disaster unfolding.
But Grant could do absolutely nothing. He stood on the driveway of the estate he thought he had conquered, watching his mistress throw her glittering green dress and her makeup into a black trash bag under the watchful eye of a sheriff's deputy. The untouchable, arrogant patriarch had just been rendered completely, utterly homeless in under an hour.
