Chapter 6 - The Trap
For the next four days, I played the long game.
Per Victoria’s instructions, I didn't yell at Derek. I didn't confront him again. I acted quiet, subdued, and compliant—exactly how Derek expected a "put-in-her-place" wife to act.
Derek was delighted. He walked around the house with an unbearable smugness, genuinely believing he had broken my spirit and forced me into submission.
"See?" Derek boasted on Friday evening as he sat on the couch with his feet up, watching a football game while Owen set the table under my supervision. "A little discipline brings harmony back to the home. We're a team again."
I smiled tightly, placing a bowl of salad on the table. Enjoy your football game, Derek. It's the last one you'll ever watch in this house.
On Monday morning at 9:00 AM, while Derek was at his construction office, Victoria executed our plan.
I stood in the driveway of our home alongside two uniformed county sheriff deputies and a court-appointed process server.
When Derek’s project manager truck pulled up—having been summoned by an "urgent emergency" text from Victoria—he stepped out, looking confused.
"Lauren? What the hell are the police doing here?" Derek demanded, walking toward the porch.
The process server stepped forward, handing him a thick blue folder.
"Derek Vance, you have been served with a petition for dissolution of marriage, an emergency ex-parte order of exclusive possession of the marital home, and a temporary restraining order," the process server announced clearly.
Derek stared at the papers in his hands as if they were written in an ancient, foreign language. His face drained of all color.
"What is this?!" Derek screamed, looking at me. "Are you out of your mind?!"
The lead deputy stepped between Derek and the porch steps. "Mr. Vance, step back. You have fifteen minutes to gather your personal clothing under our supervision. You are required to vacate these premises immediately."
"This is ridiculous!" Derek yelled, his voice cracking with rage. "This is my house! I pay the mortgage!"
"Actually, Derek," Victoria’s calm, sharp voice sounded from behind the deputies as she stepped out of her Mercedes. "Lauren pays seventy percent of the mortgage from her clinic director salary. And as your court-appointed legal opponent, I strongly advise you to keep your mouth shut before you incriminate yourself further."
Derek turned, staring at his own sister in absolute, paralyzed horror.
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"Vicki?" Derek stammered, his eyes wide. "What... what are you doing? You're my sister!"
"And Owen is my nephew," Victoria replied, her voice cold as steel. "You have fourteen minutes left to pack your bags, brother. I suggest you start with your golf clubs."
