Chapter 7 - THE EVICTION OF THE QUEEN BEE
Eleanor staggered backward as if she had been physically struck across the chest, her back hitting the brushed-steel elevator doors with a dull, echoing thud.
“You can’t do this,” Eleanor whispered, her voice cracking into a desperate, pathetic whimper that bore no resemblance to the imperious matriarch who had terrorized charity galas for years.
“We’re family! We have social standing! The board, the committee, the governor—they won’t let you ruin us over a domestic dispute!”
“Family?” I asked, letting out a cold, humorless laugh that made her flinch.
“When you called me a gold digger in front of your society friends, was that family?”
“When you whispered to Ryan that I was an uncultured burden who didn’t deserve to sit at your dinner table, was that family?”
“When you watched your son raise his hand against an eight-month pregnant woman and laughed about it behind closed doors, was that family?”
Eleanor opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out; her face was completely drained of color, leaving her looking old, withered, and utterly defeated beneath the bright, unforgiving lights of the penthouse foyer.
My father gave a subtle nod to his chief legal counsel, Marcus Vance, who had quietly stepped out of the private elevator behind Eleanor.
Marcus stepped forward, holding a thick manila folder containing formal eviction notices and asset seizure warrants.
“Mrs. Mercer,” Marcus said crisply, his tone strictly professional and devoid of any human warmth.
“By order of the federal bankruptcy court and the Carter Global holding trust, your personal residence, bank accounts, and credit facilities have been placed under immediate administrative freeze.”
“You have exactly two hours to vacate your Palm Beach estate and remove your personal belongings before the locks are changed and the property is placed on the public auction block.”
Eleanor stared at Marcus as if he were speaking a foreign language, her eyes darting frantically between my father, Marcus, and myself, searching for a single shred of mercy that simply did not exist.
“You’re monsters,” Eleanor whispered, a single tear cutting a clean path through her heavy makeup as she realized the absolute, irreversible scale of her ruin.
“Monsters?” my father replied coldly, stepping in front of me to block her view.
“Monsters are people who beat pregnant women and mock their victims while hiding behind stolen wealth.”
“We are simply the consequences.”
“Get her out of my sight,” my father commanded quietly.
The two massive bodyguards didn't hesitate; they stepped forward, each taking one of Eleanor’s arms with firm, professional precision, and lifted her off her feet as she began to hyperventilate and thrash weakly against their grip.
“Let me go! You can’t do this to me! Do you know who I am?!” Eleanor shrieked, her voice echoing down the elevator shaft as the heavy doors slid shut, sealing her fate and cutting off her hysterical cries for good.
The penthouse returned to a heavy, profound silence.
I let out a long, slow breath, feeling the last remaining tension leave my shoulders as I rested both hands protectively over my swollen belly.
“Well,” my father said, turning around with a warm, reassuring smile as he pulled me into a gentle, careful embrace.
May you like
“That takes care of the mother-in-law.”
“Now,” my father added, kissing the top of my head gently, “let’s get you downstairs to the private medical wing. Dr. Vance wants you resting comfortably, and I have a global empire to run on your behalf.”
