Chapter 4 - The Eviction Notice
Derek opened the door, plastering on his best, most reasonable smile. The salesman mask snapped back into place.
“Officers, how can I help you? Is this about the noise? My sister was just over and—”
“Derek Foster?” the taller officer asked, unsmiling.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Mr. Foster, you need to step out into the hallway, please. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Derek’s smile faltered. “Excuse me? This is my home. What is this about?”
“We are serving you with a temporary restraining order and an emergency eviction mandate authorized by the county judge,” the officer stated, handing Derek a thick stack of papers. “You are ordered to vacate these premises immediately. You are prohibited from coming within five hundred feet of Skylar Bennett, her place of employment, or this residence.”
Derek stared at the documents, his brain short-circuiting. “Eviction? She can’t evict me! I’m her husband! I have rights!”
“The property is solely owned by Ms. Bennett,” the second officer chimed in. “Given the nature of the domestic assault charges currently being filed against you, the judge granted her exclusive use of the residence. You have exactly fifteen minutes to pack a bag with essential clothing and toiletries. We will supervise you.”
“Assault charges?!” Derek’s voice cracked, dropping an octave. “I didn’t assault anyone! She spilled coffee on herself! She’s crazy!”
“Tell it to the judge, Mr. Foster. Fifteen minutes. Move.”
Humiliation burned hotter in Derek’s chest than the coffee had on Skylar’s skin. He was marched back into the apartment like a criminal. Under the watchful eyes of the police, he threw suits, ties, and underwear into a suitcase.
He tried to grab the PlayStation.
“Clothes and toiletries only, sir,” the officer warned, stepping forward. “Everything else is marital property subject to court division. Leave it.”
Derek’s hands shook with fury. He had spent six years making sure Skylar felt small, making sure she believed she needed him to survive. Now, he was being thrown out of a luxury apartment with a single suitcase, while the concierge and two of his wealthy neighbors watched from the hallway.
Downstairs, it was raining. Derek stood on the sidewalk, his expensive leather shoes soaking in a puddle. He tried to call an Uber, but his primary credit card—linked to Skylar’s account—declined.
He was forced to call Suzanne.
Twenty minutes later, Suzanne’s beat-up Honda Civic pulled up to the curb. She looked frantic.
“Get in!” she snapped as Derek threw his wet suitcase into the backseat. “What the hell is going on? Why did you get kicked out?”
“She went to the cops,” Derek seethed, wiping rain from his face. “She lied and told them I burned her on purpose. She’s trying to ruin my life.”
“Well, she’s ruining mine!” Suzanne screamed, slamming her hands on the steering wheel. “I just got an email from her lawyer. Skylar is suing me in civil court for all the 'loans' you transferred to me over the last four years. She has bank records, Derek! She says it’s nearly eighty thousand dollars! I don’t have that kind of money!”
Derek stared blankly at the windshield. The wipers squeaked back and forth.
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“Where are we going to go?” Suzanne demanded, tears of panic finally breaking through her anger. “I can't afford my rent this month! You said you’d cover it!”
Derek had no answer. The empire of manipulation he had built on Skylar’s back had just collapsed, and the debris was burying him alive.
