Chapter 3 - The Morning After
The morning sun rose over Willow Creek in a blaze of soft pink and gold. Inside the master suite, Theodore woke up with a heavy hangover, his head pounding from the excessive wine he had consumed during his mother’s birthday celebration.
He rolled over in the massive king-sized bed, expecting to see me sitting at the vanity table, applying her morning moisturizer as she had done every day for six years.
The room was silent. The vanity table was bare.
Theodore grunted, pulling himself out of bed. He rubbed his face, feeling a mild twinge of annoyance. He had expected me to return late last night, weeping in the foyer, begging for his forgiveness so she wouldn't lose her status as the wife of a Patterson. He figured I was probably sleeping in one of the guest rooms downstairs or hiding in the study.
He threw on a silk bathrobe and walked down the grand oak staircase.
In the kitchen, Margaret was already sitting at the marble island, wearing her silk housecoat, sipping an espresso while browsing a luxury travel magazine. Her face was bright, triumphant, completely devoid of any lingering stress from yesterday’s events.
“Good morning, my boy,” Margaret beamed, setting her cup down. “Did you sleep well?”
“Where is she?” Theodore asked, opening the stainless steel refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of sparkling water. “Did she come back last night?”
Margaret let out a delicate, airy laugh. “Who cares where she is? Let her wander around some cheap hotel for a few days. Once her little savings run out, she’ll come crawling back to apologize. I’ve already instructed the housekeeper to pack up her remaining clothes and store them in the garage. We don't need her cold energy ruining this house.”
Theodore sat down on a barstool, taking a long drink of water. “I might have hit her a little too hard, Mom. If she goes to a doctor...”
“Nonsense!” Margaret snapped waved her hand dismissively. “You put a disrespectful woman in her place. Your father did it once or twice when I stepped out of line in our younger years. It builds character. Besides, who is she going to tell? Her family is thousands of miles away, and she has no real friends in this city. Without the Patterson name, she’s nobody.”
Just then, the grand front door chimes echoed through the house.
“Ah,” Margaret smiled, adjusting her silk robe. “That must be the delivery from Cartier. I ordered a lovely little diamond piece yesterday afternoon to celebrate our fresh start.”
She glided out of the kitchen toward the foyer, her slippers whispering against the marble floor. Theodore followed slowly behind her, stretching his shoulders.
When Margaret pulled open the heavy double doors, she didn't find a uniformed delivery driver holding a velvet jewelry box.
Standing on the broad stone porch were four armed county sheriff deputies, accompanied by a man in a dark grey suit holding a heavy leather briefcase. Parked in the circular driveway behind them were two private security vehicles and a massive industrial moving truck.
Margaret blinked, her smile faltering slightly. “Can I help you gentlemen? This is a private residence.”
The man in the grey suit stepped forward, pulling a stack of legal documents bound in formal blue covers from his briefcase.
“Are you Margaret Patterson?” the man asked in a crisp, professional tone.
“I am,” she replied haughtily, crossing her arms. “And who are you to barge onto my property at this hour of the morning?”
“My name is Arthur Pendelton, representing Aegis Holdings LLC,” the attorney announced calmly. “I am here to serve you with an Emergency Notice to Vacate and an Execution of Commercial Eviction Order issued by the State Superior Court at 6:00 AM today.”
Margaret’s face went blank. “A what? What nonsense are you talking about? This is the Patterson family estate!”
Theodore stepped forward, shoving his way past his mother, his face dark with rising anger. “Hey! What the hell is going on here? Get off my porch! I own this house!”
Attorney Pendelton looked at Theodore with cool, professional pity. He pulled a second document from his folder and handed it directly to Theodore’s chest.
“Mr. Theodore Patterson,” Pendelton said clearly, his voice carrying across the quiet morning air. “This property is owned entirely by Aegis Holdings LLC, a primary subsidiary of the Evelyn Reed Private Family Trust. Neither you nor your mother possess any equity, leasehold rights, or legal title to this real estate.”
“That’s a lie!” Theodore roared, ripping the paper in half. “My father bought this house!”
“Your father died six years ago, bankrupt,” Pendelton replied flatly, his voice echoing across the foyer. “Mrs. Evelyn Reed purchased this property four years ago for eight point five million dollars in cash. She permitted your mother to reside here under a revocable occupancy agreement tied to her marital contract. That contract was formally terminated at 12:01 AM today.”
Margaret’s breath hitched in her throat. She gripped the edge of the doorframe, her face draining of all color. “What... what did you just say? Evelyn bought this house?”
“You have precisely forty-five minutes to gather your personal clothing and immediate medical items,” the senior sheriff deputy instructed, stepping forward and resting his hand near his holster. “After forty-five minutes, the security team will lock the perimeter. Any remaining personal property will be placed into commercial storage pending asset liquidation.”
“You can't do this!” Margaret shrieked, her voice pitching into a hysterical, piercing scream. “Theodore, do something! Call our lawyer! Call the bank!”
Theodore pulled his smartphone from his bathrobe pocket with shaking fingers. He frantically dialed his corporate accountant’s personal cell phone.
It rang twice before his accountant answered, his voice breathless and trembling with terror.
“Theodore! Thank God you called! Where are you?”
“Marcus, what the hell is happening?” Theodore screamed into the phone. “There are deputies at my house claiming Evelyn owns Willow Creek!”
“Theodore, listen to me!” the accountant cried out over the line. “It’s not just the house! Vance Financial just executed a complete asset seizure on Patterson Construction! They’ve called a four point eight million dollar loan! The bank has frozen our payroll accounts! Federal marshals are at our equipment yard right now impounding our excavators and trucks!”
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Theodore’s hand went completely numb. The phone slid out of his fingers, smashing against the marble floor.
He stared at the attorney, at the deputies, and at his weeping mother, the colossal wall of lies he had lived in for six years crumbling into dust around his feet.
