Chapter 2 - The Six O'Clock Eviction
At 5:55 AM, the storm clouds over Ridgefield began to break, leaving behind an icy, grey dawn that glinted off the wet stone pillars of the Vance Estate.
Inside the grand master bedroom on the second floor, Diane Vance lay comfortably beneath four-thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets, completely oblivious to the world outside. Down the hall, Chloe was sound asleep in her suite, her smartphone charging on the nightstand beside her designer handbag.
Downstairs in the grand foyer, the air still smelled of spilled expensive champagne, stale caviar, and expensive perfume from last night’s luxury cocktail party.
At precisely 6:00 AM, the heavy oak front doors of the estate did not open with a gentle turn of a key.
BOOM.
A heavy steel breaching bar struck the reinforced brass lock mechanism. The double doors swung wide open with a deafening crack, slamming against the marble walls of the foyer.
A team of twelve broad-shouldered security officers clad in black tactical uniforms surged into the house, led by Frank Miller—a former Special Forces operator who now ran Vance Global Security—and four uniformed officers from the State Police Department.
Behind them came six professional movers wearing grey work uniforms, pushing heavy commercial rolling carts and carrying industrial rolls of packing tape, cardboard wardrobe boxes, and heavy steel dollies.
"Securing the ground floor!" Frank shouted, his voice echoing through the vaulted ceiling of the foyer. "Moving teams, assume positions! Executive order in effect!"
I stepped into the grand foyer wearing a dark charcoal wool coat, my hands tucked into my pockets, my boots leaving wet, muddy tracks across the pristine white Italian marble floor that my mother had spent two hundred thousand dollars installing last summer.
Upstairs, a door slammed.
Diane Vance emerged onto the second-floor mezzanine balcony wrapped in a silk kimono, her hair wild, her face pale with pure, unadulterated outrage. Chloe followed close behind, wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe, rubbing her eyes in utter confusion.
"What is the meaning of this insolence?!" Diane screamed, her voice shrill enough to shatter glass as she glared down at the army of men filling her foyer. "Who gave you permission to break down my door?! Frank Miller, you foolish brute, I will have your license revoked by noon!"
She swept down the grand curved staircase, her silk robe billowing behind her like the wings of a furious raven.
"Daniel!" she shrieked when her eyes fell on me standing in the center of the room. "Have you lost your mind?! You bring armed thugs into my home at six in the morning after the humiliating scene you caused last night?!"
I stood perfectly still, my expression utterly blank. "It's not your home, Diane."
Diane stopped on the third step from the bottom, her brow furrowing in irritation. "Don't be absurd! I am your mother! This is the Vance ancestral estate!"
"The Vance Estate is owned one hundred percent by Vance Holdings LLC," I said, my voice dangerously calm, pulling a thick stack of legal documents from my coat pocket and throwing them onto the glass coffee table in the center of the room. "Vance Holdings is a subsidiary of Vance Cybernetics. I am the sole managing director, sole shareholder, and sole trustee. You don't own a single brick, a single piece of furniture, or a single square inch of this soil."
Chloe scoffed from the balcony, leaning over the gold railing. "Oh, please, Daniel! You can't just kick us out! We live here! We have legal tenant rights!"
"You had tenant rights," I corrected, looking up at my sister. "Until midnight last night, when I filed an emergency ex parte eviction order based on felony domestic violence, child endangerment, and aggravated assault."
A state police officer stepped forward, holding two official court summonses.
"Diane Vance and Chloe Vance?" the officer asked sternly. "You are hereby served with a temporary restraining order issued by the State Superior Court. You are required to remain a minimum of five hundred yards away from Daniel Vance, Sarah Vance, and Noah Vance at all times."
Diane’s face flushed a deep, terrifying shade of crimson. She snatched the legal papers from the officer’s hand, tearing them down the middle and tossing the scraps onto the floor.
"This is a ridiculous farce!" she spat, taking a step toward me, her finger pointing viciously at my chest. "You are doing this because of that weak, pathetic, low-class girl! She made up those lies about the closet! She's unhinged, Daniel! She left the window open herself to make us look bad!"
I didn't answer her with words.
I reached into my coat, pulled out a portable tablet, tapped the screen, and turned the display toward her face.
The 4K video played in crystal clarity: Chloe opening the window over Noah's crib... Diane shoving Sarah into the door frame... Chloe turning the key in the closet lock and smirking at the camera.
Diane froze. The color drained from her face so fast she looked like a ghost.
Beside her on the stairs, Chloe let out a tiny, whimpering gasp, her hands flying over her mouth as she stared at the high-definition footage of her own cruel actions.
"You... you put cameras in my house?" Diane whispered, her voice finally losing its booming confidence.
"I put cameras in my house," I said flatly. "And the State Prosecutor has already reviewed the footage. The warrant for your arrest is currently being processed."
I turned to Frank Miller and the moving crew.
"Clear the house," I ordered coldly. "Every piece of clothing, every shoe, every piece of jewelry they bought using my family credit accounts remains here as seized evidence for the civil suit. Give them ten minutes to put on shoes and coats. If they are still on this property at six-fifteen, have the officers arrest them for trespassing."
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"Daniel! No! You can't do this to your mother!" Diane shrieked as two security guards grabbed her by her arms, escorting her away from the staircase toward the front door. "I raised you! I made you the man you are!"
"No, Diane," I said, looking her straight in her terrified, crying eyes as the movers began tearing down her expensive oil paintings from the walls. "You made yourself my enemy."
