Chapter 4 - The House of Cards
In Palm Springs, the temperature was ninety-five degrees, but Lucas Walker felt freezing cold.
He sat on a cheap air mattress in the middle of an empty living room.
The condominium was beautiful.
Floor-to-ceiling windows, white marble counters, a private pool.
It was also completely unfurnished, because every single credit card he owned had been declined at the furniture store that morning.
Melanie was pacing by the windows, her arms crossed defensively over her slightly rounded stomach.
"I don't understand, Lucas," she said, her voice sharp with anxiety. "You told me the money was transferred. You told me your divorce was finalized months ago and you got half of everything!"
Lucas rubbed his temples, a headache pounding behind his eyes.
"It's a banking error, Mel," he lied, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. "My ex-wife must have frozen the accounts out of spite when she saw the final decree. I just need to call my lawyer."
"Then call him!" Melanie yelled, her frustration boiling over. "We are sleeping on the floor! We have a baby coming! You promised me a life here!"
Lucas grabbed his phone and walked out onto the patio to escape her screaming.
He dialed my number for the fiftieth time.
This time, I didn't send him to voicemail.
I answered on the second ring.
"Hello, Lucas," I said, my tone as casual as if he had just called to ask what was for dinner.
"Elena! Thank God!" he gasped, trying to sound relieved. "Listen, I'm in Zurich and there is a massive problem with the bank. The joint account is showing a zero balance. My cards aren't working."
"Oh, I know," I replied smoothly. "I emptied it."
Silence hung on the line.
Heavy. Suffocating. Real.
"You... you what?" he stammered, his facade cracking.
"I moved my $720,000 into my personal trust," I stated clearly. "I figured you wouldn't need it in Switzerland."
"Elena, you can't do that!" he shouted, panic overriding his caution. "That's our money! I need that for my living expenses over here!"
"In Zurich?" I asked, allowing a hint of amusement to creep into my voice.
"Yes! In Zurich!" he insisted desperately.
"That's strange," I said slowly. "Because my bank shows multiple declined transactions at an Enterprise Rent-A-Car at Palm Springs International Airport."
I heard a sharp intake of breath on his end.
"And it also shows a declined charge at a West Elm furniture store in California," I continued, twisting the knife.
"Elena... wait... I can explain," his voice dropped to a terrified whisper.
"There is nothing to explain, Lucas," I said, my voice turning to absolute ice. "I know about the condo. I know about the fake contract. And I know about Melanie."
The silence returned, deeper and darker this time.
"I packed your things," I informed him. "They are in a storage unit on 4th Street. The key will be mailed to your new address in California."
"Elena, please. You're acting crazy. We can talk about this. Let me come home."
"You don't have a home here anymore," I stated firmly. "The locks are changed. If you step foot on my property, you will be arrested for trespassing."
Before he could formulate another lie, a new voice echoed through the phone.
A man's voice, speaking in the background on Lucas's end.
"Lucas Walker? I have some legal documents for you."
The process server had arrived.
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"Enjoy your new beginning, Lucas," I repeated the exact words I had spoken to my computer screen days ago.
Then, I hung up.
