Chapter 5 - The Eviction
By midnight, the Grand Avenue Regent Hotel ballroom was completely empty, leaving behind only scattered champagne glasses, crushed napkins, and the lingering stench of ruined ambition.
While Brendan was being processed at the central police precinct downtown, I took a private town car directly to the gated enclave of La Jolla—the sprawling, twenty-million-dollar oceanfront estate where Brendan, Claire, and I had lived for the past three years.
Technically, the estate belonged to Pinnacle Real Estate Holdings, purchased as an official executive residence. Brendan had spent millions of company money installing Italian marble fountains, custom infinity pools, and a private wine cellar, always boasting to his high-society friends that he had bought his mother her dream palace.
When my car pulled through the iron security gates, I saw that two moving vans from Pinnacle Asset Recovery were already parked in the circular driveway. Marcus was standing on the front steps, directing a team of security guards and private locksmiths.
“Ms. McCann,” Marcus said, bowing respectfully as I stepped out of the car. “We have already executed the lock-change protocol. All executive access codes have been purged from the home automation system. We are currently inventorying all high-value items inside.”
“Has my mother-in-law arrived?” I asked, adjusting my coat against the ocean breeze.
“Her taxi just pulled up three minutes ago,” Marcus smiled thinly. “She didn't have her corporate driver, as we repossessed her Mercedes at the hotel parking garage.”
At that moment, a yellow taxi screeched to a halt behind my car. The back door flew open, and Claire tumbled out, her mascara smeared down her face, her hair wildly disheveled. She looked decades older than she had three hours ago.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Claire shrieked, marching up the stone driveway toward me. “You monster! You had my son arrested! You ruined his reputation! And now you have these goons standing on my front porch!”
I stood at the top of the steps, looking down at her calmly.
“This isn't your front porch, Claire,” I said softly. “This house is owned entirely by Pinnacle Enterprises. And as the Chief Executive Officer, I am revoking the residential occupancy license immediately.”
“You can't throw me out!” Claire screamed, her voice cracking. “I live here! My clothes are in there! My jewelry is in there!”
“Your personal clothing has already been packed into three suitcases and placed on the curb,” Marcus interjected smoothly, pointing to three black bags sitting near the driveway gate. “As for the jewelry... any piece purchased using the corporate account linked to Pinnacle Enterprises has been seized as evidence of grand larceny pending judicial review.”
Claire’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “You... you can't do this to me! I am an old woman! I am Brendan’s mother!”
“For ten years, Claire, you reminded me every single day that I didn't belong in this house,” I said, stepping down one stair toward her. “You told me I was a charity case. You made me sit at the lower end of the table during holidays. You let your son slap me in front of three hundred people while you clapped your hands like a sadist.”
“I... I was just protecting my son!” Claire stammered, stepping back as she saw the complete lack of mercy in my eyes.
“No, Claire,” I replied coldly. “You were feeding off him. You were an enabler who traded your self-respect for designer purses bought with stolen money. Now, take your suitcases and get off my property before I have the guards arrest you for criminal trespass.”
“Sydney, please!” Claire suddenly fell to her knees on the driveway cobblestones, weeping hysterically, her hands clasped together in desperate plea. “Please! Where am I supposed to go?! I don't have any money! Brendan’s cards aren't working!”
“You have twenty minutes to call an Uber, Claire,” I said, turning my back on her and walking toward the grand double doors of the estate. “I suggest you find a cheap motel. Because by tomorrow morning, the courts will freeze every asset tied to your name.”
I walked into the grand foyer, the heavy iron doors closing behind me with a solid, echoing thud, cutting off her hysterical weeping completely.
I stood in the vast, quiet foyer, looking up at the soaring ceilings and the grand double staircase. For three years, this place had felt like a luxurious prison. Tonight, the air finally felt clean.
My phone rang. It was Andy Ashworth again.
“Sydney, Brendan’s defense attorney just called,” Andy reported. “He’s begging for a emergency bail hearing tomorrow morning. Brendan wants to make a deal. He claims he’s willing to sign full divorce papers without asking for a single cent if you agree to drop the corporate fraud and assault charges.”
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I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean.
“Tell his lawyer that the time for deals ended the moment his hand hit my face,” I said into the phone. “We prosecute every charge to the maximum extent of the law. I want him broke, exposed, and behind bars.”
