Chapter 2 - The Fall of the Pretenders
Panic, thick and suffocating, seized the apartment. Hattie began screaming hysterically, running around the living room grabbing designer handbags and fur coats—all bought with money Michael had squeezed from my generous allowances.
“Michael! Do something! Tell them who we are! We are the Colemans of Sedona!” Hattie shrieked, clutching a pair of shoes.
“Shut up, Mom!” Michael snapped, his voice cracking with fear. His arrogant composure was completely gone. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he stared at the eviction notice in his shaking hands.
The police officers stood guard in the doorway, arms crossed, watching them like common thieves.
“Thirty minutes left, Mr. Coleman,” the officer said, tapping his watch. “Anything you leave behind will be locked inside, and civil executioners will clear it out.”
Michael grabbed his phone and frantically dialed my number.
“The number you have dialed is no longer in service or has blocked your caller ID.”
He tried calling my office line at Sterling Real Estate Development. The receptionist answered smoothly: “Sterling Development, Executive Offices.”
“Put me through to Penelope! Immediately! This is her husband, Michael!” he demanded into the receiver.
“Mr. Coleman,” the receptionist’s voice turned ice-cold. “Mrs. Vance-Sterling has instructed us that all communications from you or your mother must go through her legal counsel, Mr. Arthur Vance. Furthermore, you are banned from entering the Sterling Corporate Building. If you set foot on the property, security will detain you for criminal trespass. Have a pleasant day.”
Click.
Michael stood frozen in the hallway. For three years, he had believed he was the provider, the sophisticated city architect uplifting a poor girl from Montana. He had paraded me in front of his arrogant Sedona relatives as his proudest act of charity. Now, the mask had been torn off, revealing that he was nothing more than a parasite living off my wealth.
By 11:00 AM, Michael and Hattie were pushed out onto the hot sidewalk in front of the Heights District luxury tower.
They looked pathetically out of place. Hattie sat on top of three mismatched suitcases, her hair disheveled, swearing at passersby. Michael stood beside her in his crumpled designer suit, holding two garbage bags filled with their clothes.
The grand glass doors of the building slid open. Two burly locksmiths stepped out, accompanied by the building manager—a man who used to bow politely to Michael every morning.
Without a word to Michael, the locksmiths changed the digital lock mechanisms on the main private elevator and the front door of my penthouse. The manager turned to Michael with a cold glare.
“Mr. Coleman, your parking space access card has been revoked. Your luxury vehicle—which was leased under Sterling Corporate accounts—has been repossessed and towed away five minutes ago.”
Michael gasped. He looked toward the underground parking garage ramp just in time to see his silver Mercedes-Benz being towed away on a flatbed truck.
“My car! You can't take my car!” Michael yelled, running toward the tow truck.
“It’s not your car, Michael,” a calm, authoratative voice spoke from behind him.
Michael stopped in his tracks and turned around.
A sleek black Bentley pulled up to the curb. The rear door opened, and Arthur Vance stepped out, wearing a tailored three-piece suit, holding a leather briefcase.
“Arthur...” Michael stuttered, trembling. “Where is Penelope? I need to speak to my wife! This is a huge misunderstanding! My mother was sick, she was confused yesterday—”
“Save your breath, Mr. Coleman,” Arthur interrupted coldly, pulling a thick folder from his briefcase. “I am Arthur Vance, Lead Counsel for Mrs. Penelope Vance-Sterling. You will not be seeing my client. In fact, if you come within five hundred feet of her, her mother, or her place of business, you will be arrested immediately.”
Hattie scrambled up from her suitcase, her face contorted with rage. “Who do you think you are?! Penelope is a ungrateful bitch! My son made her who she is! We will sue her for half of everything she owns!”
Arthur looked at Hattie with pity and disgust. He opened the file and handed a sheaf of papers to Michael.
“You are welcome to try, Mrs. Coleman,” Arthur said smoothly. “However, I suggest you read the pre-nuptial agreement your son signed three years ago.”
Michael’s heart dropped into his stomach. “The... the agreement?”
“Yes,” Arthur smiled thinly. “You were so confident that Penelope had no assets that you barely skimmed the documents before signing. Clause 14 clearly states that in the event of physical or mental abuse, domestic violence, or marital infidelity, the offending party forfeits all claims to any marital assets, spousal support, and gift assets.”
Arthur leaned in closer to Michael, his eyes sharp as daggers.
“Furthermore, we have filed formal criminal charges against your mother for felony assault and elder abuse. The footage from the doorbell camera is crystal clear, Mr. Coleman. The police prosecutor has already reviewed it. A warrant for Hattie Coleman’s arrest will be issued by tomorrow morning.”
Hattie let out a choked gasp and collapsed back onto her luggage.
“You... you're lying!” Michael shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. “She loves me! Penelope loves me! She wouldn't do this to me!”
May you like
“Penelope loved the man she thought you were,” Arthur said coldly, turning back toward his car. “Unfortunately for you, you proved to be nothing more than a coward who strikes women and abuses the innocent. Enjoy your stay at whatever budget motel you can afford, Mr. Coleman. Court is in two weeks.”
Arthur stepped back into his Bentley, leaving Michael and Hattie standing on the curb as the afternoon sun beat down on them, utterly ruined, humilated, and exposed.
