Chapter 5 - THE EVICTION
(1,500 words)
While Preston was being processed in a cold, concrete holding cell at the Miami Federal Detention Center, his mother, Beatrice Vance, was enjoying a quiet evening at the Vance Estate.
Beatrice sat in the grand living room, wearing a silk dressing gown, sipping vintage sherry while watching a reality television show on the sixty-five-inch flat screen. She had spent the last two hours on the phone with her country club friends, bragging about how her brilliant son was currently receiving a multi-million-dollar institutional endorsement from Sterling Crown Holdings.
“Yes, darling,” Beatrice purred into her phone, swirling her glass. “Preston took Chloe tonight. So much more presentable than that little church mouse Eleanor. I told Preston weeks ago that he needed to cut Eleanor loose. She’s practically a servant anyway.”
Suddenly, the front security gates of the estate roared open.
Beatrice frowned, looking toward the window. “Hold on, Gloria. I think Preston is back early to celebrate.”
She hung up her phone, adjusted her silk robe, and walked out into the grand foyer, expecting to see her son holding a bottle of expensive champagne.
Instead, the massive front double doors were slammed open with a heavy, booming thud.
In walked six six-foot-four private security officers wearing dark tactical uniforms stamped with the gold crest of STERLING CROWN HOLDINGS. Behind them were four professional movers carrying heavy cardboard boxes, industrial trash bags, and roll-up packing tape.
Beatrice gasped, stepping back against the marble staircase. “What is the meaning of this insolence?! Who authorized you to enter my son’s home?!”
The head security officer, a stern woman named Captain Hayes, stepped forward holding a tablet and an official court order.
“Mrs. Beatrice Vance,” Captain Hayes announced coldly. “This property is owned seventy percent by Sterling Crown Real Estate Trust and thirty percent directly by Madam Eleanor Sterling. As of 9:30 PM tonight, all residential occupancy licenses for this address have been revoked.”
Beatrice let out a high, hysterical shriek. “Occupancy licenses?! This is my son’s house! Preston bought this mansion five years ago!”
“Your son’s company leased this property from Sterling Crown for one dollar a year under a conditional marital residence clause,” Captain Hayes corrected, gesturing to the movers. “That clause was terminated one hour ago following Mr. Vance’s arrest for federal bank fraud.”
“Arrest?!” Beatrice choked, her face going grey. “Arrest?! You lie! Preston is at the Venetian Resort being honored by the Chairwoman!”
Captain Hayes clicked a button on her tablet, turning the screen around to face Beatrice.
On the screen was a live breaking news broadcast from Channel 7 News:
“BREAKING NEWS: VANCE LOGISTICS CEO PRESTON VANCE ARRESTED AT ANNUAL GALA FOR $12M FEDERAL FRAUD; STERLING CROWN TERMINATES ALL ASSETS.”
Live video footage showed Preston being dragged out of the resort in handcuffs, his tuxedo soaked in champagne, weeping frantically into the news cameras.
Beatrice’s sherry glass slipped from her fingers, shattering against the marble floor—the exact spot where she had smashed a plate three hours earlier and ordered Eleanor to sweep it up.
“No... no, no, no!” Beatrice wailed, clutching her chest. “My son! My beautiful, brilliant boy!”
“You have fifteen minutes to collect your personal clothing, Mrs. Vance,” Captain Hayes commanded flatly. “Jewelry, art, silver, and furniture purchased with Vance Logistics funds have been impounded by federal marshals.”
“You can't do this to me!” Beatrice shrieked, charging toward the stairs. “I am Beatrice Vance! I am high society in this city!”
Two female security officers stepped into her path, instantly grabbing her arms and locking her in place.
Within twenty minutes, Beatrice’s designer dresses, shoes, and coats were stuffed indiscriminately into black plastic trash bags. The movers carried the bags out to the front driveway, tossing them onto the damp pavement outside the iron security gates.
At 10:45 PM, the heavy iron security gates slammed shut, locking with a loud, electronic CLICK.
Beatrice Vance stood outside in the cold night rain, wearing her silk dressing gown and slippers, surrounded by eight black trash bags containing her clothes, sobbing hysterically as her luxury cars were towed down the driveway by flatbed trucks.
A sleek black Maybach pulled up to the gate.
The rear tinted window slid down smoothly.
Sitting in the plush leather back seat, sipping a glass of warm sparkling water, was Eleanor. She looked radiant in her blue velvet dress, her forty-carat diamond necklace sparkling in the rain-slicked streetlight.
Beatrice rushed toward the window, grabbing the door handle frantically. “Eleanor! Eleanor, my dear child! Please! Tell these monsters to let me back inside! It’s cold out here! I have nowhere to go!”
Eleanor looked down at her former mother-in-law.
She remembered three hours ago, when this woman had smashed a plate at her feet, called her a maid, and told her she wasn't sophisticated enough to stand beside her son.
Eleanor slowly reached into her clutch, pulled out a single twenty-dollar bill, and tossed it through the window onto the wet pavement at Beatrice’s feet.
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“Clean it up, Beatrice,” Eleanor said softly.
The window rolled up smoothly. The Maybach accelerated down the private road, leaving Beatrice kneeling in the rain on the wet asphalt, weeping over a soggy twenty-dollar bill.
