Chapter 3 - The Eviction
The ticking of the grandfather clock in the dining corridor sounded like a countdown to execution.
Brianna tore into the master bedroom, ripping designer dresses off their velvet hangers and stuffing them haphazardly into a canvas laundry hamper. Her composure was gone. Her mascara was smeared from furious, unspilt tears. "Help me, Julian! Don't just stand there like an idiot! Grab the jewelry box from the safe!"
Julian stood frozen in the hallway, staring at his hands. For twenty-eight years, those hands had never known labor. They had signed expense tabs, held golf clubs, and gripped the steering wheels of imported sports cars bought with trust fund dividends. Now, they were empty.
"The safe is biometric," Julian whispered through numb lips. "It’s coded to Mom’s thumbprint. I don't have the access code."
Brianna froze, a half-folded cashmere sweater dangling from her fingers. She spun around, her eyes wild with feral rage. "What do you mean you don't have the code? You told me you took over all her accounts last month! You told me she was senile, Julian! You swore to me she had signed the power of attorney!"
"She was supposed to!" Julian shouted back, his voice cracking into a shrill register. "Her lawyer told me the documents were ready for review! I thought—"
"You thought?" Brianna dropped the sweater, marching up to him until her face was inches from his, just as it had been with Eleanor ten minutes earlier. But there was no triumph now, only raw contempt. "You didn't verify it? You dragged me into this apartment, had me throw her luggage on the floor, and told me we owned the world, when you didn't even have the deed?"
"You wanted this!" Julian snarled, gripping her wrist. "You were the one who said she was living too long! You picked the furniture! You told me to push her out today!"
"Gentlemen. And lady."
The voice came from the bedroom doorway. One of Marcus Sterling’s private guards stood there, an unyielding wall of muscle in a tactical suit, holding a digital stopwatch.
"Time is up," the guard said evenly.
"Give us five more minutes!" Brianna shrieked. "My handbags are in the walk-in closet! There’s two hundred thousand dollars worth of Birkins in there!"
"The owner has instructed us that any items not in your hands at the expiration of the ten-minute window belong to the estate," the guard said, stepping into the room and extending an arm toward the corridor. "Please exit the premises immediately, or the police will be dispatched for aggravated criminal trespass."
Julian pulled Brianna by the elbow. "Brianna, come on. We have to go. We'll call the lawyers from downstairs."
"Get off me!" she hissed, wrenching her arm free. But she had no choice. Clutching only a single leather tote bag, her bare shoulders exposed to the air-conditioned draft, she stumbled toward the foyer.
Marcus Sterling stood near the elevator, watching them with the detached curiosity of a scientist observing insects. Eleanor Vance was nowhere to be seen; she had already descended to her private car.
As the elevator doors opened, Julian looked back at the sweeping glass vista of the ocean, the hand-carved mahogany panels, the life he had assumed was his birthright.
"Marcus," Julian pleaded, his voice cracking. "Tell me where my mother went. Please."
Marcus pressed the down button on the wall panel. "She told me to give you a message, Julian."
"What? What did she say?"
"She said your father left you a piece of land in your own name. The only property she couldn't touch."
May you like
A flicker of hope ignited in Julian's chest. "Where is it? Aspen? The vineyard in Napa?"
"The old scrap shipyard in Port Arthur, Texas," Marcus said quietly as the elevator doors slid shut between them. "Enjoy your inheritance."
