Chapter 9 - The Eviction Notice
Julian Vance stepped forward, sliding a crisp, legal-backed envelope out of his portfolio and holding it out toward Lauren with the detached precision of a machine.
“Miss Vance-Montgomery,” Julian said, his baritone voice echoing clearly through the quiet room, “pursuant to the amended corporate trust filings executed tonight at 8:15 p.m., formal notification is hereby served regarding your immediate removal from all secondary housing allocations, subsidiary vehicle leases, and educational trust disbursements.”
Lauren stared at the envelope as if it were contaminated with a deadly virus, refusing to lift her hands to take it, letting it slip from Julian’s fingers to land squarely on the linoleum floor beside her designer loafers.
“I won't accept this,” Lauren hissed, stepping back as if physical rejection of the paperwork could somehow nullify its legal binding. “Richard and I have a legally binding occupancy agreement for the Ridgefield guest cottage! We have verbal promises dating back three years! You can't just throw us out into the street with twenty-four hours' notice!”
“There was never a binding occupancy agreement, Miss Vance-Montgomery; there was merely an unrecorded permissive tenancy revocable at the sole discretion of the primary asset holder,” Julian corrected smoothly, retrieving his document and slipping it neatly back into his portfolio. “Furthermore, regarding the Ridgefield lake property currently occupied by your parents: formal notice of lease termination and property repossession has already been transmitted to Arthur Vance via electronic service and registered mail. Commercial eviction proceedings will commence at 9:00 a.m. sharp on Thursday morning.”
My father let out a choked sound of utter outrage, stepping forward as if he intended to physically knock the briefcase out of Julian’s hands.
“You can’t evict us from that house!” my father roared, spittle flying from his lips as his face flushed a dangerous shade of purple. “I planted those oak trees in the front yard thirty years ago! I built the boat dock with my own hands before Miranda’s company even existed! That house belongs to this family!”
“That house,” Julian replied, his voice dropping into a cold, unyielding register, “is a commercial asset owned entirely by Vance Holdings LLC, purchased with venture capital funds generated by Miss Vance. You held occupancy solely through her goodwill. Goodwill that was irrevocably exhausted tonight when you elected to unpack throw pillows while your daughter lay in a trauma ward.”
Lauren grabbed my father’s arm, her eyes wide with panic as she realized that the luxurious suburban lifestyle they had flaunted across social media was rapidly dissolving into thin air.
“Dad, let’s go,” Lauren whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of humiliation and seething hatred as she glared daggers at my hospital bed. “Don't give this ungrateful sociopath the satisfaction of watching us beg. We don't need her money. Richard’s family has connections—we’ll manage just fine without her blood money!”
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“Good luck with that, Lauren,” I said softly, closing my eyes against the sudden wave of exhaustion washing over my fractured ribs. “Tell Richard he’ll actually have to lift a box for once in his life.”
With a final, venomous glare that could have cracked glass, Lauren grabbed my father by the sleeve and yanked him toward the door, storming out into the hallway and letting the heavy oak door slam shut behind them with a concussion that shook the entire room.
