Chapter 5 - Eviction and Exile
The next sixty minutes felt like an out-of-body experience.
Under the watchful eye of Officer Higgins—a silent, imposing patrolman who stood by the entryway with his arms crossed over his tactical vest—Kala and the two movers swept through my bedroom on the second floor with military efficiency.
Every law textbook I had purchased with my own tip money from waitressing. Every suit I had bought off the discount rack for court appearances. My laptop, my birth certificate, my passport, and the heirloom jewelry my grandmother had secretly given me before she passed, warning me never to let Merrick know she had left it to me.
My mother stood at the bottom of the stairs the entire time, clutching her silk robe around her throat, weeping tears of pure venom.
“You’re a traitor, Varity! A monster! We gave you everything! We put a roof over your head! We fed you! And this is how you repay us? By tearing your family apart for a piece of paper?”
I didn't answer her. I didn't even look down over the banister.
When you argue with a narcissist, you give them the drama they crave. Silence is the only blade that cuts them to the bone.
Merrick sat in the formal living room, staring blankly at the empty fireplace, his phone pressed to his ear as he desperately dialed every defense attorney in his contact list. I could hear snippets of his frantic whispers through the open French doors:
*“...I don't care what the retainer is, Herb! Get her out on bail tonight! What do you mean the DA flagged it for mandatory arraignment? She's twenty-seven years old, she has no priors!... The video? Who told you about the video?”*
The movers carried out the final two cardboard boxes, loading them neatly into the back of Kala’s rental van. Officer Higgins checked his watch, looked at me, and gave a brief, respectful nod. “That’s your two hours, ma’am. Everything accounted for?”
“Everything that matters,” I said.
I took off the black servant’s apron I was still wearing, folded it neatly, and dropped it onto the antique console table in the foyer. Beside it, I placed my house key and the garage remote.
My mother rushed forward, her eyes wild. “Varity! Wait! What are we supposed to tell people? Tamson’s trial... the legal fees... your father’s firm can’t survive a public scandal like this! You have to drop the charges!”
I paused at the threshold, turning to look at her one last time.
“I didn't press the charges, Mom. The State of New York pressed them. The State vs. Tamson Vance. Even if I wanted to drop them—which I don't—I couldn't. Tamson made her bed. Now she can sleep in it on a metal cot.”
“You’ll fail out there!” my mother spat, her voice cracking with pure malice. “Without your father’s name, you are nothing! You’re just a crippled girl who writes with the wrong hand! Nobody will hire you!”
“I already have a job,” I said softly.
I walked out the door, into the crisp night air, and didn't look back.
Kala was waiting in the passenger seat of her SUV, the heater blasting warm air. As I climbed in and pulled the door shut, the heavy thud of the latch sounded like the closing of a tomb.
For the first three miles, I didn't say a word. I sat in the darkness, watching the suburban streetlights blur into streaks of amber and silver as the tears finally came. Not tears of sorrow for the family I was losing, but tears of pure, unadulterated relief. The heavy, suffocating weight that had rested on my chest since I was seven years old had finally lifted.
Kala reached across the center console, squeezing my left knee gently. “You did it, V. You survived them.”
“My hand hurts,” I whispered, laughing through the tears as I cradled the fiberglass cast against my stomach.
“I’d be worried if it didn't,” Kala smiled, passing me a paper coffee cup from a drive-thru. “Drink up. Hot chocolate with extra whip. We’re heading to my guest room. Tomorrow morning at nine o’clock, you have an appointment at the top floor of the Sterling Tower.”
“Arthur Stellin?”
May you like
“The man himself,” Kala said, her eyes gleaming in the dashboard glow. “He called while you were upstairs packing. He told me to tell you that he doesn't like his future associates sleeping on the street.”
***
