Chapter 3 - The Ultimatum on the Stairs
“How dare you!” Evelyn shrieked, her voice rising to a frantic, shrill pitch that echoed off the high ceilings. “Accusing your own husband—the father of your child—of such vile things! Marcus, Chloe, get in here and listen to the absurd lies this ungrateful woman is spinning!”
Marcus and Chloe crowded into the doorway, their smug expressions instantly replaced by guarded, nervous tension.
“It’s not an accusation, Evelyn,” a cool, authoritative voice cut through the tension from the hallway behind them.
Jessica Vance stepped across the threshold, flanked by two uniformed county sheriff’s deputies. Her sharp charcoal suit and polished leather portfolio radiated absolute, uncompromising authority.
Brandon staggered backward, his shoulder hitting the edge of the pantry door. “Who... who the hell are you? How did you get in here? The gates were locked!”
“Your wife gave us the access codes, Mr. Holloway,” Jessica replied smoothly, opening her portfolio and sliding a thick sheaf of legal papers across the granite kitchen island. “And as of fifteen minutes ago, a federal magistrate judge signed an emergency asset-freeze and eviction order covering every individual, corporate entity, and secondary trust associated with Holloway & Associates.”
Chloe let out a sharp, choked gasp. “You can’t do that! We have an architectural contract! We have remodeling deposits scheduled for tomorrow morning!”
“Your remodeling deposits were funded by illegal wire transfers skimmed from primary trust accounts,” Jessica stated flatly, tapping her pen against the document. “Which means you aren't just facing civil breach-of-contract suits—you’re looking at federal wire fraud and grand larceny indictments.”
Silence fell over the kitchen so heavy you could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator.
Brandon looked from Jessica to me, his eyes wide with sudden, desperate terror. He lunged forward, reaching out a trembling hand. “Charlotte, please... don't do this. We can talk about this. We’re a family. Think of Skylar!”
I stepped back, keeping a safe distance between us, my expression as cold as winter stone.
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“You stopped thinking about Skylar the night you forced her to sit in a dark kitchen eating instant noodles while you feasted on stolen wealth,” I said softly. “You have forty-eight hours to clear your belongings out of this house. After that, the sheriff will remove you by force.”
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