Chapter 4 - The Eviction
By 11:00 AM the following day, the autumn sun was shining brilliantly over the manicured lawns of the Ashford estate—or rather, the Victoria estate, as the deeds officially stated.
I stood by the second-floor master suite window, watching through the smart-glass as a fleet of white moving trucks and municipal repossession vans pulled up the heated stone driveway.
Down below, Arthur and Evelyn Ashford stood on the front portico, surrounded by Louis Vuitton luggage, designer garment bags, and an embarrassing pile of cardboard boxes. Evelyn looked like she had aged ten years overnight; her makeup was smudged, her designer silk blouse wrinkled, and her face twisted in an ugly, sputtering rage as she screamed at a pair of movers who were currently hauling a massive oil painting of her grandfather out the front door.
“That is a seventeenth-century original!” Evelyn shrieked, clutching her pearls. “You cannot touch that! Do you know who I am?”
“Ma’am, inventory tag 404 clearly lists this painting as property of Vale Meridian Asset Trust,” the head mover replied in a flat, bored tone, loading the canvas into the back of a secure transport van. “Please step away from the loading zone.”
The front door opened, and Grant stepped out, escorted by two police officers who had allowed him a brief, supervised visit to pack his personal items before being transferred to the county detention center. He wore a plain gray prison jumpsuit beneath a zip-up jacket, his wrists cuffed in front of him.
He looked up toward the second-floor window.
Through the smart-glass, our eyes met.
Grant stopped dead on the top step. His face was pale, bruised slightly from where Dad had shoved him against the marble pillar, and his eyes were hollow. He looked like a man who had finally realized that his entire life—his wealth, his status, his prestige—was nothing more than a loan he could never afford to repay.
I didn't flinch. I didn't smile. I simply raised my left hand, letting the morning sun catch the diamond-encrusted smart-ring that controlled every lock, camera, and climate-control relay in the mansion.
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With a subtle tap on the screen, I locked the front security gates at the end of the driveway, trapping them inside the courtyard until the repossession inventory was formally completed.
Grant dropped his head, letting out a defeated sigh, and allowed the officers to guide him toward the waiting police cruiser.
