Chapter 6 - The Morning Eviction on Beacon Hill
The morning sun broke over the red-brick facades of Beacon Hill like a sharp silver blade.
A light drizzle washed against the tall bay windows of the Vance family townhouse.
Inside the master suite, Eleanor Vance lay awake beneath her imported Italian linen sheets, her eyes swollen from weeping.
Beside her on the mahogany floor sat three empty bottles of vintage gin.
Aidan Vance was still slumped on the velvet chaise lounge, his disheveled tuxedo shirt unbuttoned to his navel.
His hands trembled uncontrollably as he stared at his dead smartphone screen on the marble side table.
At seven-thirty sharp, the antique brass knocker on the front door struck four violent times.
The sound echoed up the circular mahogany staircase like gunfire.
Eleanor jumped up with a ragged gasp, clutching her silk robe around her shivering throat.
"Aidan! Wake up! Someone is at the front gate!"
Aidan groaned, dragging his palm over his grey, stubbled face.
"Tell them to go away, Eleanor. Tell them the wedding party is sleeping."
The heavy blows sounded again, louder and more deliberate.
Down the hall, Fiona’s bedroom door swung open with a bang.
Fiona staggered into the corridor, her hair tangled like a bird’s nest and her bridal makeup smeared across her pale cheeks.
She was still wearing the white silk robe Julian had bought her for their canceled honeymoon in Saint-Tropez.
"Mother! Make them stop that dreadful noise!" Fiona cried, her voice cracked and shrill.
"Julian hasn't answered my seventy-four calls! His mother blocked my number!"
The heavy oak front door groaned under the force of a master crowbar.
The lock mechanism shattered with a deafening metallic snap that shook the foyer chandeliers.
Eleanor screamed, rushing to the ornate banister to look down into the lower entryway.
Four uniformed officers from the Suffolk County Sheriff's Department strode into the foyer.
Behind them walked two young men carrying industrial clipboards and rolls of yellow hazardous-property tape.
At the center of the squad stood a tall, middle-aged woman wearing a sharp gray wool coat and gold wire-rimmed glasses.
Her name was Victoria Ramos, the chief legal counsel for Montgomery Global's foreclosure division.
"Aidan Vance!" Victoria’s voice carried up the four-story stairwell with flat, bureaucratic authority.
"Eleanor Vance! You are hereby served with an immediate emergency writ of possession!"
Aidan stumbled out onto the landing, leaning heavily against the banister to keep from collapsing.
"What is the meaning of this outrage?" Aidan shouted, trying to summon the booming baritone that had terrorized me for decades.
"This is private residential property! You are trespassing on historic Beacon Hill land!"
Victoria didn't even look up as she peeled the yellow carbon copy from her clipboard.
"As of six o’clock this morning, the private loan default triggered an immediate transfer of deed under Section 4 of your equity covenant."
She looked up at the stairs, her gaze cold and unimpressed.
"This property is now fully titled to Montgomery Holdings."
"You have twenty minutes to collect your personal identification documents and prescription medications."
"Everything else inside this residence—including furniture, art, vehicles, and silverware—is attached to the court-ordered asset freeze."
"No!" Fiona shrieked, running halfway down the stairs and waving her hands hysterically.
"My wardrobe! My couture gowns! My Cartier jewelry! Julian bought me those!"
"If Mr. Julian Sterling purchased items for you with his personal funds, he may petition the court for their return," Victoria replied coldly.
"If those items were purchased with Vance Maritime corporate cards, they are property of the receiver."
Two sheriff’s deputies began walking up the stairs, their heavy leather holsters creaking with every step.
"Ma'am, step back from the stairs," one deputy warned Fiona.
"Twenty minutes. If you are not outside the iron perimeter gate by eight o’clock, you will be escorted out in handcuffs for criminal trespass."
Eleanor collapsed against the wall, sliding down to the runner rug and clutching her head.
"Where will we go, Aidan? Where are we supposed to sleep tonight?"
Aidan looked out the landing window toward the street below.
Parked directly behind the sheriff's cruisers was a silver Maybach with tinted glass.
The rear window rolled down two inches.
Aidan caught the unmistakable glint of a bespoke platinum cufflink resting against the dark windowsill.
May you like
Christian Montgomery was watching them fall from the street corner.
And sitting beside him in the shadows of the luxury sedan, drinking hot tea from a porcelain flask, was the daughter he had tried to break on a banquet floor.
