Chapter 5 - The Cutoff
At 10:00 AM the following morning, the front door of the mansion opened.
Ethan walked in, looking like a ghost. His shirt was rumpled, his eyes bloodshot, and he reeked of stale hospital coffee. Margaret followed closely behind him, leaning heavily on his arm, her silver hair styled in a messy knot, looking ten years older than she had twenty-four hours ago.
Madison was still admitted at the hospital under observation, but the two of them had returned home to change clothes and gather supplies.
They froze the moment they stepped into the foyer.
Four men in dark suits were standing in the living room, systematically packing Margaret’s expensive crystal collectibles and Madison’s designer clothes into heavy cardboard boxes. Standing beside them was a locksmith, who was currently unscrewing the deadbolt on the front double doors.
"What is going on here?!" Margaret shrieked, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Ethan! Look at this! Someone is robbing us!"
Ethan stormed into the living room, his face turning red. "Vivienne! What the hell is this?! My mother just went through a nightmare! My sister is in a hospital bed! What are these people doing in our house?!"
I descended the floating glass staircase slowly, wearing an immaculate winter-white pantsuit, a cup of black coffee in my hand. I looked cool, rested, and entirely untouchable.
"They aren't robbing you, Ethan," I said, stopping on the bottom step. "They are packing your mother's belongings. And yours."
"Have you lost your mind?!" Ethan shouted, stepping toward me. "This is my home!"
"This is my home, Ethan," I corrected, setting my coffee cup on the side table. "Purchased with my capital, registered under my personal trust, paid for by my labor. You have never contributed a single dollar to the mortgage, the property taxes, or the maintenance."
Margaret stepped forward, her eyes flashing with pure hatred. "You heartless bitch! My daughter lost her child last night! Have you no human decency?!"
"Your daughter lost her child because you poisoned her, Margaret," I said coldly, my voice dropping an octave. "And as for human decency, let's talk about yours."
I held up a thick manila folder and tossed it onto the coffee table. It landed with a loud thud.
"Inside that folder are the bank statements showing the three hundred thousand dollars Ethan stole from my housing trust," I said, glaring at Ethan, who instantly turned pale. "Along with the forged signatures used to clear Madison’s gambling debts in Macao, and the draft of the estate trust your mother tried to execute three weeks ago to seize my company if I died in childbirth."
Ethan gasped, taking a step back, his eyes darting frantically to his mother. "Vivienne... I... I can explain that company! It was an investment! I was going to tell you—"
"Save it for your lawyer, Ethan," I interrupted smoothly. "Your credit cards have been canceled. Your name has been removed from all corporate accounts. The Mercedes you drive has been repossessed from the driveway, and the locks on this house are being changed right now."
Margaret let out a sharp, hysterical laugh. "You can't do this! We are family! Ethan is your husband! The law protects spouses!"
"The law protects victims of fraud, Margaret," I said, pulling a white envelope from my jacket pocket and tossing it toward Ethan. It slid across the table, stopping beside the forensic audit. "Those are your divorce papers, Ethan. You have two hours to sign them and clear your things from my house. If you or your mother are still on this property by 1:00 PM, my security team will have you arrested for criminal trespassing."
"You monster!" Margaret screamed, charging toward me with her fingernails extended like claws. "You did this on purpose! You knew Madison was hungry! You set a trap for my baby!"
Before she could reach me, two of my private security guards stepped between us, grabbing Margaret by her arms and pinning her back.
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"Get your hands off my mother!" Ethan yelled, but he made no move to help her. He stood there, completely paralyzed, staring at the divorce papers on the table.
"One hour and fifty-eight minutes, Ethan," I said, turning my back on them and walking toward my study. "I suggest you start packing."
