Chapter 7 - The Eviction Clock
I raised my hand, and the heavy side doors of the ballroom burst open with a resounding bang.
A dozen armed security guards wearing private tactical gear marched into the room, led by a tall, stern man with silver hair and an impeccable black suit.
It was Arthur Vance, the most ruthless, feared corporate litigation attorney on the West Coast.
Behind Arthur walked four uniformed officers from the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department.
The sight of the police uniforms silenced the screaming siblings instantly.
Ashley clamped her hands over her mouth, while Greg looked as though he was about to vomit onto the Persian carpet.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Arthur Vance announced, his deep baritone commanding absolute authority over the silent crowd.
“As chief legal counsel for Mr. Daniel Sterling and Mrs. Emily Sterling, I have been instructed to execute several immediate legal actions.”
Arthur snapped his fingers, and two of his junior associates stepped forward carrying stacks of freshly printed legal binders.
“First, all guests currently attending this unauthorized gathering are trespassing on private property.”
“You have exactly ten minutes to vacate the premises before the Sheriff’s Department processes individual criminal trespassing citations.”
The party guests did not wait to be told twice.
Socialites, influencers, and corporate acquaintances scrambled in a blind panic toward the front exits, knocking over cocktail tables and dropping their glasses in their rush to escape the impending legal catastrophe.
Within three minutes, the grand ballroom was completely emptied of outsiders.
Only the wreckage of the lavish feast, the catering staff, my legal team, the police, and my parasitic family remained.
Margaret stood trembling in the middle of the room, clutching her designer pearls as Arthur Vance approached her with a legal summons.
“Mrs. Margaret Sterling, you are hereby served with an emergency eviction notice and a temporary restraining order issued by the Los Angeles Superior Court.”
Arthur handed the thick packet of documents directly to her, but she let her hands drop, allowing the papers to flutter onto the floor around her feet.
“This is my son's house!” Margaret shrieked, her voice reaching a shrill, hysterical pitch.
“You cannot evict the mother of the owner! Daniel, tell this man to leave! I gave you life! I raised you!”
“You gave me life, Margaret, but you sold your soul the minute you treated my wife like a servant,” I replied with utter finality.
“You do not own a single brick, a single tile, or a single thread inside this estate.”
“Every asset is held under the Sterling Family Revocable Trust, of which Emily and I are the sole trustees.”
Arthur Vance turned smoothly toward Ashley and her husband Greg.
“Furthermore, the two Ferrari sports vehicles and the Range Rover currently parked in the driveway have been reported as unauthorized corporate asset conversions.”
“Tow trucks are currently entering the front gates to impound all vehicles registered under the company name.”
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the bright amber flashing lights of three heavy commercial tow trucks illuminated the courtyard.
Michael let out a wailing sob, burying his face in his hands on the polished floor.
“My car... my brand-new SF90...” Michael wept like a broken child.
“It was never your car, Michael,” I said coldly.
“It was paid for by the twelve-hour days I spent building restaurants while you were sleeping until noon.”
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“You have twenty minutes to take your personal clothing and get off my property.”
“Anything not out of this house in twenty minutes will be thrown directly into the commercial incinerator.”
