Chapter 3 - The Eviction at Midnight
Michael stepped forward from the bar, his chest puffed out, holding an expensive crystal tumbler of whiskey.
“Hey, man, back off Mom!” Michael barked, trying to assert dominance. “You’ve been living like a king in Europe while we stayed here maintaining your image! I live in the master suite because I manage the local security details for the estate! Someone had to step up while you were gone!”
I turned my gaze to my younger brother. Michael had never held a real job in his life. I had paid off his college debts three times, bought him two sports cars, and set up a trust fund that he had drained within eighteen months.
“You manage nothing, Michael,” I said evenly. “You drain my bank accounts.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket and tapped the screen twice, dialing my chief head of private security, Marcus, who was waiting in a black SUV outside the front gates.
“Marcus,” I said into the speakerphone. “Bring the team inside. Clear the driveway.”
“Understood, Mr. Vance,” Marcus’s deep voice echoed through the ballroom speaker.
Margaret’s eyes widened with panic. “Arthur! What are you doing?! These are prominent members of the Dallas community! You can’t disrespect us like this!”
“This party is over,” I announced to the room, looking around at the crowd of socialites. “Every single one of you has five minutes to leave my property. If you are still on the grounds in six minutes, my security detail will have you arrested for criminal trespass.”
The room erupted into chaos. High-society women grabbed their fur coats in a panic, businessmen dropped their glasses, and guests scrambled toward the front doors to avoid being named in a public scandal. Within three minutes, the grand ballroom was empty of guests, leaving only my mother, Jennifer, her husband David, Michael, and the hired catering staff who stood frozen near the kitchen doors.
I looked at the catering staff. “You are all dismissed for the night. You will receive double pay for your hours from my personal assistant tomorrow morning. Please leave.”
The staff didn't hesitate; they stripped off their aprons and hurried out the back exit.
Now, only my family remained in the massive, quiet ballroom.
“Are you happy now?!” Jennifer screamed, stepping up to me with her hands on her hips. “You just humiliated us in front of the entire city! Do you have any idea how hard Mom and I worked to get us invited to the Country Club board?! You’re an ungrateful monster!”
“I am the man who paid for every thread of clothing on your back, Jennifer,” I snapped back, taking a intimidating step toward her. “I paid for your husband’s failed restaurant venture. I paid for your mother’s cosmetic surgeries. I paid for this estate, the staff, the cars, and the food you just fed to your fake friends.”
I turned to Marcus, who had just entered the ballroom accompanied by four large, armed security guards.
“Marcus,” I ordered calmly. “Change the security codes on every door and gate on this property immediately. Cancel every credit card connected to the family master account.”
“Arthur, no!” Margaret shrieked, clutching her chest dramatically. “You can’t do this to your mother! I raised you! I gave you life!”
“And I gave you five years of luxury, which you used to abuse my wife,” I replied coldly. “Marcus, escort my mother, my sister, her husband, and my brother to the front gate. They have ten minutes to pack one suitcase of personal clothing each. Everything else—the jewelry, the designer bags, the luxury cars—stays on this property pending a full financial audit.”
Michael took a aggressive step toward Marcus. “Touch me and I’ll sue you!”
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Marcus didn't even blink. He reached out, grabbed Michael by his designer collar, and twisted his arm behind his back, forcing him to his knees with effortless precision.
“You have nine minutes sir,” Marcus said coldly.
