Chapter 4 - The House Always Wins
The dining hall disintegrated into absolute pandemonium.
“Vacate?” Eleanor shrieked, her aristocratic composure entirely shattering. She clutched her pearl necklace with claw-like fingers, turning a sickly shade of scarlet. “You can’t evict us! It’s Christmas Eve! It’s freezing outside!”
“You didn’t seem particularly concerned about the cold when your son left your six-year-old granddaughter sitting alone at home in her Christmas dress,” I replied coldly.
Nathan stepped toward Sarah, his eyes wild with desperation. “Sarah, you know this is illegal! You cannot execute a residential eviction without a thirty-day notice period! I know the tenant laws in this state!”
“Under New York State Real Property Law, that applies to residential tenants who hold a valid lease or pay rent,” Sarah countered smoothly, holding up the certified agreement. “Paragraph fourteen of your parents’ occupancy license specifically designates this property as a commercial corporate retreat. The license explicitly states that any occupancy may be terminated immediately without prior notice upon the breach of Section Nine—which prohibits the harboring of non-corporate unauthorized individuals, or using the property to facilitate corporate embezzlement.”
Sarah gestured toward Brooke Lawson. “Miss Lawson has been residing in the east guest cottage for thirty-two days, with her utility, catering, and personal expenses billed fraudulently to Hearthstone’s corporate accounts. That is an incurable material breach. Judge Harrison signed the order of immediate surrender at six-forty-five this evening.”
Brooke stepped back, her lower lip trembling as she looked at Nathan. “Nathan... do something! Tell them they can’t do this!”
Nathan frantically pulled his iPhone from his pocket, his thumb swiping wildly across the screen. “I’m calling Judge Vance. I’m calling my lawyers. This is a sham!”
He pressed the phone to his ear, waiting. But before he could even connect, a loud electronic ding chimed from the kitchen doorway.
A middle-aged man wearing a white chef’s jacket walked into the room, holding an iPad terminal. It was Monsieur Laurent, the executive caterer whose company had prepared the multi-course feast currently sitting on the table.
“Pardon me, Monsieur Reed,” Laurent said, his French accent tense and agitated. “Your card... it has been declined. Both the black card and the secondary business reserve card. The system says ‘Account Frozen by Judicial Order.’ The balance for tonight’s staff and food is forty-two thousand dollars. We cannot serve the dessert until the payment is cleared.”
A collective gasp rippled through the gathered guests.
Several prominent investors immediately stood up from their chairs, exchanging uneasy, panicked looks.
“Declined?” one of the venture capitalists murmured loudly. “Nathan, what is going on here? You told us Hearthstone had thirty million in liquid reserves for the new venture!”
“It does! It’s just an administrative error!” Nathan stammered, sweat breaking out across his forehead, plastering his dark hair to his temples. “Everyone, please, remain seated! The catering bill will be handled immediately! Just give me five minutes!”
“He can’t handle it,” I announced to the room, turning my gaze over the panicked crowd. “Every account Nathan Reed has access to has been frozen pursuant to a federal financial audit. If you have invested personal capital with him over the last six months under the guise of the ‘Midwest Expansion Project,’ I strongly advise you to contact your attorneys tonight. The money Nathan showed you on those prospectuses does not exist.”
That was the fatal strike.
The socialites didn't wait for another word. High society is built on the appearance of wealth; the moment the stench of ruin and criminal investigation enters the room, the rats abandon the ship with ruthless speed.
“Eleanor, thank you for the appetizers, but we must be leaving,” a prominent local developer said stiffly, grabbing his wife’s mink stole from the back of her chair.
“Wait! Julian, please! Don’t go!” Eleanor pleaded, reaching out to grasp his sleeve, but the man pulled away as if she carried a contagion.
Within five minutes, the grand dining hall was emptying. The guests hurried out the front doors into the falling snow, their luxury cars revving and tires spinning on the gravel driveway as they scrambled to escape before the local press caught wind of police cruisers at the Reed estate.
Soon, only the catering staff remained, hurriedly packing their silver chafing dishes while Deputy Chief Miller supervised them from the foyer.
Nathan, Eleanor, Richard, and Brooke stood alone in the center of the vast, ruined room.
Nathan looked at me, his chest heaving, his tie crooked. The mask of the charismatic, untouchable CEO was completely gone, replaced by the raw, ugly fury of a cornered beast.
“You vindictive, psychotic bitch,” Nathan spat, taking a menacing step toward me.
Chief Miller immediately stepped forward, resting his hand firmly on his service holster. “Back up, son. Don’t make this night worse for yourself than it already is.”
Nathan stopped, his fists shaking. “You think you’ve won, Elena? You think you can just kick my parents onto the street on Christmas Eve and walk away? I am the face of Hearthstone! The board answers to me! I will drag you through every court in this country until you don’t have a penny left to your name!”
“The board answers to the majority shareholder, Nathan. That’s me,” I said, looking him dead in the eye without a flicker of emotion. “And as for dragging me through court... you might want to look at what Sarah just handed to Brooke.”
Brooke was staring down at a white certified envelope, her hands shaking so violently the paper rattled.
“What is that?” Nathan demanded, turning to her.
Brooke looked up, her face completely drained of color. “It’s... it’s a federal subpoena from the Southern District of New York. Grand jury investigation for interstate wire fraud.”
Nathan froze. “What?”
I picked up my leather handbag and slung it over my shoulder.
“You thought I didn't know about the shell companies in Delaware, Nathan? You thought I didn't notice the four hundred thousand dollars you routed through Brooke’s personal LLC under the title of ‘interior design consulting’?”
I leaned in closer to him, my voice dropping to a harsh, cold whisper.
“You broke Lily’s heart tonight because you wanted to play house with your mistress in front of your snobbish friends. You told me there was no room for us. Well, Nathan... look around you. There’s no room for you here, either.”
I turned to Chief Miller. “Chief, it is eight-fifteen. They have until ten-fifteen to remove their personal clothing and medications. Anything else belongs to the estate under the commercial corporate inventory. If they are still here at ten-sixteen, arrest them for criminal trespass.”
“Understood, Mrs. Reed,” Miller said firmly.
“Elena! Please!” Eleanor suddenly collapsed onto a dining chair, sobbing loudly into her lace handkerchief. “Where are we supposed to go? It’s Christmas Eve! Every hotel is booked!”
May you like
“I hear the motel by the interstate has vacancies,” I said, not even looking back as I walked toward the grand double doors. “Merry Christmas, Eleanor.”
***
