Chapter 6 - The Audit and the Eviction
By 9:00 AM the next morning, I was sitting at a sleek glass desk in Rowan’s home office, staring at a twin-monitor setup that displayed logistics charts, real estate holdings, and municipal contracts.
My laptop was open to my company email, but I couldn't focus on the Delmar contract.
My phone—which I had left powered on for ten minutes earlier that morning—had blown up with forty-two missed calls and thirty-eight frantic text messages from Troy.
Piper, where are you? Please come back. I didn't mean it. The landlord is here saying our lease is terminated. What did you do? Who is that man?
I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the block button.
A shadow fell across the desk. Rowan stood beside me, holding two porcelain cups of black coffee. He glanced down at my phone screen, read the preview of Troy’s text, and let out a cold, humorless chuckle.
"He's learning the difference between a minor annoyance and a structural collapse," Rowan said, setting a cup down beside my keyboard.
"Is the lease really terminated?" I asked, looking up at him.
"The commercial landlord on Mozart Street also happens to be a subsidiary of an LLC managed by Ashby Capital," Rowan replied casually, taking a sip of his coffee. "When I inquired about their tenant’s history of property damage and domestic disturbance reports from neighbors, the management company realized they had grounds for immediate eviction under clause fourteen of the lease agreement."
I stared at him, a mixture of awe and disbelief washing over me. "You own the building we lived in?"
"I own a great many things, Piper," Rowan said, leaning his hip against the edge of the desk, his gaze fixed steadily on mine. "Most of them require maintenance. None of them have ever been treated as poorly as you were."
Before I could process the weight of his words, the intercom on the desk chimed.
Rowan pressed the receiver. "Go."
"Mr. Ashby," a crisp, professional voice spoke through the speaker. "Mr. Troy Reinholdt is currently downstairs in the lobby. He's demanding to speak with Miss Vance. Security has him contained, but he’s making a scene."
Rowan’s eyes narrowed into twin slits of black ice.
"Escort him out onto Lake Shore Drive," Rowan ordered, his voice devoid of any human warmth. "And inform him that if he takes one step onto property owned by Ashby Capital or its affiliates anywhere in the state of Illinois, my legal team will file criminal charges for breaking and entering, stalking, and assault, backed by forty-eight hours of security footage from his apartment hallway."
"Understood, sir."
The line clicked dead.
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I sat frozen, my heart hammering against my ribs. "He's downstairs?"
"He was," Rowan corrected, standing up straight and straightening his cuffs. "He won't be for much longer. Finish your coffee, Piper. Today, we are going to the office. Not to hide in the operations department, but to sit beside my desk."
