Chapter 3 - The Audit and the Ultimatum
While Beatrice continued her reign of domestic terror downstairs, Serena spent the next forty-eight hours executing a quiet, devastating counter-offensive. As a senior corporate consultant, her analytical skills were second to none, and she applied that exact cold precision to her personal life. First, she contacted her personal estate attorney, Arthur Pendelton—a bulldog of a lawyer who had represented her late father for thirty years—and instructed him to pull the original, unalterable deed of the Savannah estate from county records, alongside the ironclad prenuptial agreement Lucas had signed prior to their wedding in 2019.
Next, she pulled the joint household financial statements. Over the past three years, Lucas had systematically drained over forty thousand dollars from their joint checking account—an account primarily funded by Serena’s high-salary consulting fees—to covertly pay off his mother’s lingering credit card debts, fund Beatrice’s luxury medical treatments, and even purchase a brand-new luxury crossover SUV for his mother registered entirely in Beatrice’s name, all without Serena’s knowledge or consent.
On Thursday evening, Serena called for a formal household meeting. She didn't whisper or negotiate; she simply sat at the head of the dining room table, flanked by a thick, heavy leather binder containing every single bank transfer record, tax document, deed registration, and legal affidavit.
Lucas walked into the dining room looking annoyed, loosening his tie, while Beatrice sauntered in right behind him, holding a glass of white wine as if she were the lady of the manor.
“What is this grand assembly about now, Serena?” Lucas sighed, dropping heavily into a chair. “Can’t a guy eat dinner in peace?”
“We need to talk about finances, property titles, and boundaries,” Serena said evenly, opening the thick leather binder. “Specifically, we need to discuss the fact that your mother believes she owns a property she has never contributed a single cent toward, and the fact that you have been illegally siphoning marital funds to finance her lifestyle behind my back.”
Beatrice scoffed, taking a dramatic sip of her wine. “Oh, here we go again with the hysterical money talk! My son earns his keep, and as the matriarch of this family, I have every right to be supported by the household my son provides for!”
Serena didn't yell. She slid a single printed document across the polished mahogany table directly toward Lucas. It was an itemized forensic accounting ledger detailing every unauthorized withdrawal Lucas had made over the past thirty-six months.
Lucas glanced at the paper, and all the color instantly drained from his face. His jaw went slack, and he stammered, “Where... where did you get this?”
“I run my own business, Lucas. Did you really think I wouldn't notice forty grand disappearing into your mother’s black hole of debt?” Serena’s voice was as cold as winter steel. “Furthermore, your mother has spent two years telling anyone who will listen that this is your house. It’s time we cleared up that delusion once and for all.”
Beatrice slammed her wine glass down onto the table, splashing liquid across the wood. “How dare you speak to my son that way in his own home! Lucas, tell your wife to pack her bags tonight! We are done playing nice with this ungrateful parasite!”
Lucas sat frozen in his chair, staring at the financial ledger in sheer terror, completely paralyzed between his aggressive mother and his furious wife. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
Serena closed the binder with a sharp, echoing snap. “She doesn't need to pack my bags, Beatrice. Because tomorrow morning, attorney Arthur Pendelton is filing formal eviction and trespassing notices against you, backed by a court order prohibiting you from ever stepping foot on this property again.”
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Beatrice turned an alarming shade of mottled purple, screeching at the top of her lungs. “Evict me?! From my son’s house?! You can’t do that! Lucas, tell her she’s insane! Tell her you own this house!”
Serena stood up slowly from her chair, looking down at both of them with supreme, unshakeable power. “Go ahead, Lucas. Tell her. Tell your mother who really owns this house.”
