Chapter 3 - Eviction Notice
When I walked back into the living room, the atmosphere shifted. Richard was lounging on the sofa next to Brooke, his arm draped casually around her shoulders. Vivian was rocking Chloe, humming a lullaby.
They looked like a family. A perfect, grotesque little portrait painted over my life.
“Ah, she returns,” Richard drawled, not bothering to stand up. “Are you ready to be an adult about this, Amanda? Because Brooke and I have been talking, and we think it’s best if you move into the guest wing for now. Chloe needs the master nursery.”
I didn't answer. I just stood near the fireplace, my arms crossed, watching them with clinical detachment.
Brooke shifted uncomfortably under my gaze. “Amanda, I know this is hard to process. But Richard and I… we have a real connection. And Chloe is a Whitman. We just want what’s best for the baby.”
“You brought your bastard child into my home,” I said, the words falling like heavy stones. “And you allowed my son to be abused.”
“Oh, stop being dramatic,” Vivian snapped from her chair. “The boy needs a firm hand. And frankly, considering his behavioral issues, we’ll be discussing sending him to a boarding school. Richard and I have already looked into a few places.”
Before I could tear her apart verbally, the heavy chime of the front doorbell echoed through the house.
“Were you expecting someone?” Richard asked, frowning. “I told the caterers not to come until five.”
I walked past them and opened the front door. Marcus Thorne stood on the porch, holding two thick, black leather folders. Flanking him were two massive men in dark suits—former military contractors who handled security for the Hayes family executives.
“Good afternoon, Amanda,” Marcus said, his eyes scanning the room behind me.
“Come in, Marcus. Gentlemen.”
As the three imposing men stepped into the foyer, Richard finally stood up, his face flushing with irritation. “Amanda, what is the meaning of this? Who are these people?”
Marcus walked calmly into the center of the living room. He didn't look at Richard; he looked at his surroundings with mild disgust. He opened the first folder and pulled out a stack of legally bound papers.
“Mr. Whitman,” Marcus began, his voice booming with authority. “I am Marcus Thorne, legal counsel for the Hayes Family Trust. You are currently trespassing on private property.”
Richard let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Trespassing? I live here! This is my house. I’m her husband!”
Marcus adjusted his glasses. “Incorrect. This property, including all fixtures and furnishings, is owned entirely by the Hayes Family Trust. Your name is not on the deed. Furthermore, as per the prenuptial agreement you signed five years ago—Section 4, Paragraph 2—in the event of documented infidelity, you forfeit any right to reside in properties owned by the Trust. You have zero equity here.”
Richard’s face lost a fraction of its color. He looked at me, his eyes narrowing. “You’re throwing me out? Over a mistake? I’ll take half of everything you own in the divorce, Amanda. The courts will strip you bare.”
Marcus smiled. It was a terrifying expression.
“Actually, Richard, you won't. Let’s talk about your company, Whitman Construction.” Marcus opened the second folder. “Two years ago, your firm was facing bankruptcy. Amanda’s father absorbed your debt and integrated your company into Hayes Residential Partners. You are not the owner, Richard. You are an employee. A subsidiary director.”
“I built that company!” Richard yelled, stepping forward, but the two security guards immediately stepped in front of Marcus, hands clasped, eyes locked on Richard. He stopped dead in his tracks.
“You drove it into the ground,” I corrected him, my voice finally cutting through the tension. “My money saved it. And as of ten minutes ago, the board of directors—which I chair—has terminated your employment for gross misconduct and embezzlement.”
“Embezzlement?” Brooke gasped, standing up quickly.
“Company funds used for personal travel, hotel rooms, and… diamond jewelry for a mistress,” I said, locking eyes with Brooke. Her hand instinctively flew to the diamond pendant resting against her collarbone. “That is corporate fraud, Richard. We have the receipts.”
Vivian stood up, clutching the baby tightly. “You can't do this! He is your husband! You are tearing a family apart!”
“You tore it apart the moment you made my son crawl on his hands and knees,” I fired back, the raw anger finally bleeding into my tone. I pointed at the front door. “You have exactly ten minutes to pack whatever fits into your car. Anything you bought with my money stays. If you are not off my property in ten minutes, I will hand over the security footage of you abusing a minor to the police, and I will hand over the financial records to the FBI.”
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Richard stared at me, his mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish. The arrogant king of the castle had suddenly realized the castle was a trap, and the gates had just slammed shut.
“Ten minutes,” Marcus repeated, checking his gold pocket watch. “Gentlemen, please escort Mr. Whitman and his guests to the door.”
