Chapter 5 - The Masterclass of Denial
“Three hours?” Richard’s voice cracked, squeaking an entire octave higher than his usual practiced baritone. “Are you out of your mind? You can’t evict someone from their own home in three hours! The law protects tenants! We have thirty days! Sixty days!”
Marcus Vance didn't even blink. He adjusted the cuff of his bespoke suit with excruciating deliberation.
“The law protects legal tenants with an active lease agreement, Mr. Vance,” Marcus replied, his voice deadpan, echoing through the marble foyer. “You do not possess a lease. You possessed an informal, revocable occupancy license granted by Vance Meridian Capital, which was contingent upon you maintaining the structural integrity of the home and refraining from filing unauthorized encumbrances against the title.”
Marcus took half a step forward, leaning in just enough so that only Richard could hear his next words.
“Furthermore, my office has filed an emergency injunction with the state attorney’s office regarding the fraudulent $450,000 HELOC application bearing your forged corporate resolution. If you attempt to claim tenant status in this court, the deputy here has been instructed to convert this civil removal into an immediate custodial arrest for first-degree identity theft and commercial mortgage fraud. Do you want to spend the next forty-eight hours in a county holding cell, Richard?”
Richard’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow gasps. The paper in his hand rattled against his trembling fingers.
Up on the landing, Brenda was clutching the banister, her knuckles white. “Call Emily! Richard, call her right now! This is ridiculous! She can’t do this to us! We’re her family!”
At that exact moment, a sleek white BMW M4 pulled into the driveway, its engine roaring with aggressive, juvenile power. Tyler tapped the horn twice in a cheerful rhythm, killed the ignition, and stepped out into the damp morning air, holding a cardboard tray carrying four venti cups from Starbucks.
Chloe hopped out of the passenger side, dressed in an expensive cream cashmere trench coat, her diamond engagement ring catching the dull morning light.
“Morning, team!” Tyler called out, walking up the front steps with a swagger. “I brought the caramel macchiatos for the crew! Hey, Frank, why aren't the dumpsters in place yet? Let's get these walls—”
Tyler stopped dead in his tracks.
He saw the two armed deputies standing on either side of the front double doors. He saw his father, standing in a silk bathrobe on the porch, looking as though he had suffered a massive stroke. And he saw Marcus Vance.
“What’s going on?” Tyler muttered, the smug grin sliding off his face. “Who are you guys?”
“Tyler,” Richard croaked, his voice trembling. “Tyler, she sold the house.”
Tyler blinked, letting out a nervous, disbelieving laugh. “Who sold what? Em? She can’t sell the house. Dad, this is your house.”
Marcus Vance turned his gaze to Tyler. It was the look a forensic accountant gives to a spreadsheet with an obvious, glaring arithmetic error.
“Tyler Vance,” Marcus said evenly. “I recommend you call a tow truck for your vehicle immediately. Meadowbrook Lane is now private corporate property. Any non-authorized vehicles on site at ten a.m. will be impounded at the owner’s expense.”
Chloe looked between Tyler and Marcus, her manicured brow furrowing with sudden, sharp suspicion. “Tyler? What is this man talking about? You told my parents that your father owned this estate free and clear. You told us this was where we were going to live after the wedding!”
“I—we do!” Tyler stammered, dropping the tray of coffees onto the brick walk. The cups burst, splashing steaming brown liquid across the white stone steps. “Wait! This is a mistake! My card—I’ll call Emily right now!”
Tyler snatched his phone from his pocket and jabbed at the screen. He brought the phone to his ear.
*“The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service.”*
Tyler cursed, opening his mobile banking app to verify his liquid funds so he could show the deputies he had money.
The screen flashed a bright crimson notification: *Account Authorization Terminated by Primary Cardholder.*
His available balance read: *$14.22.*
Tyler’s face went completely ash-grey. “No, no, no… this is an error. The app is glitching.”
Frank Russo walked up to Tyler, towering over the younger man with his broad shoulders and calloused fists.
“Hey, kid,” Russo growled, poking Tyler hard in the chest with a thick index finger. “I don't give a damn about your family soap opera. You signed an agreement for my crew’s mobilization. That’s five grand. Pay up, or I’m putting a mechanic’s lien on that BMW before the sheriff tows it.”
“I don't have it!” Tyler yelled, his voice cracking with hysteria. “The card—she turned off the card!”
Chloe took two distinct steps backward, away from Tyler, as if he were suddenly covered in something contagious.
“You don't have five thousand dollars?” Chloe whispered, her eyes wide with horrified revelation. “Tyler, you told my father you were closing an eight-million-dollar tech marketing round this quarter. You told everyone at Thanksgiving that you bought that BMW with cash!”
“Chloe, babe, listen to me, it’s just a banking delay—my sister is having a psychological breakdown—”
“Your sister?” Chloe snapped, her country-club polish instantly melting into sharp, vicious fury. “Her name is on the deed! Her lawyer is standing right here! Did you lie to me? Did your family lie to my parents about everything?”
From the doorway, Brenda came flying down the stairs, still in her robe, her hair wild and disheveled. She lunged toward Marcus Vance, her acrylic nails clawing at the air.
“You tell that little bitch that I will sue her for every penny she has!” Brenda shrieked, her voice echoing down the entire street, causing neighbors three houses down to walk to their driveways to stare. “I took care of her! I cooked for her! I let her live under my roof! She owes us! She owes us everything!”
Marcus Vance did not even flinch. He simply looked at the deputy standing to his left.
“Deputy,” Marcus said calmly. “Please advise the woman that physical threats against legal counsel during the execution of a civil writ constitute a Class A misdemeanor.”
The deputy stepped between Brenda and Marcus, his voice booming and uncompromising. “Ma'am! Step back into the house immediately and begin packing your personal effects. You have two hours and forty minutes remaining. If you are not off this property by ten o’clock, you will be removed in handcuffs. Do you understand me?”
Brenda froze, looking at the deputy’s hand resting on his taser.
Behind them, the Bobcat excavator’s engine roared to life with a deafening, metallic growl, belching black diesel smoke into the pristine morning air as the operator began backing it off the flatbed.
The demolition wasn't going to happen to Emily’s bedroom.
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The demolition had arrived for the entire family.
***
