Chapter 3 - The Eviction Notice
"Clear house?" Michael laughed loudly, though the sound was noticeably forced now, his eyes darting nervously between David and the two massive private security guards who had suddenly appeared at the edge of the patio gates, summoned silently by David’s encrypted satellite phone two minutes prior. "What does that even mean, Dave? You’re talking crazy! This is our family home too! Well, technically it’s yours, but Mother said—"
"Mother doesn't own a single square inch of this property," David cut him off sharply, pulling a thick leather folder out of his travel bag and tossing it onto the marble island. It landed with a heavy, ominous slap. "Neither do you, Michael. Neither do you, Jennifer, or your useless husband who hasn't held a job since 2021."
Margaret stepped forward, her face flushed with genuine rage, her jewelry rattling as she pointed a trembling finger at him. "You listen to me, David Costa! We are your blood! We sacrificed for you! Without our guidance, you would still be flipping burgers in that dump downtown! You cannot throw us out of our home!"
"It's not your home," David said, his voice ringing out across the quiet patio where thirty guests stood in stunned, horrified silence. "It’s my home. Bought with my sweat, my capital, and my contracts. And as of five minutes ago, my legal counsel has officially revoked all power of attorney, residency permissions, and financial stipends tied to every single one of you."
Jennifer shrieked, dropping her empty champagne glass. It didn't shatter—it landed on the soft grass, rolling harmlessly into the flower bed. "You can't do that! We have a lifestyle to maintain! What are we supposed to do, get jobs?"
"What a novel concept," David replied coldly.
He turned his attention to the two private security guards who had stepped onto the flagstone. "Escort everyone off the property. Anyone who refuses to leave within ten minutes gets tossed over the front gates. Confiscate all designer jewelry, car keys to vehicles registered under my corporate entities, and any cash or valuables currently in their possession that were purchased using company accounts."
"You're bluffing!" Michael lunged forward, his face red with drunken fury, raising a fist as if he were going to strike his older brother.
He didn't even make it two steps.
The larger of the two security guards—a mountain of a man named Marcus who had served with David’s logistics teams in the Middle East—stepped directly into Michael’s path, caught his wrist mid-air with casual brutality, and twisted his arm behind his back with a sharp, sickening click of joints.
Michael screamed, dropping to his knees. "Let me go! You can't do this! I'll sue you! I'll ruin you!"
"Try finding a lawyer who will take a case against a man with a billion-dollar restaurant portfolio when you don't even have a dime for retainer fees," David said, looking down at his brother with absolute indifference.
Margaret began to wail, clutching her chest in a theatrical display of distress. "You're killing me, David! You're killing your own mother over some ungrateful, scrubbing-pot peasant!"
David didn't even look back as Marcus hauled Michael to his feet and began marching him toward the front gates. "Take her luggage out first, Marcus. Make sure she doesn't forget her favorite diamond necklace—the one she stole from Emma's jewelry box three years ago."
As the chaos erupted behind them—shouts of protest, weeping relatives being physically herded toward the exit, and the sputtering engines of luxury cars being forced out of the circular driveway—Emma stood quietly beside David, watching the empire of lies crumble into dust.
David wrapped a clean linen towel around her wet hands, wiping away the soap and grease with infinite gentleness.
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"It's over, Em," David whispered, pressing his forehead against her hair. "They're gone. They're never coming back."
Emma closed her eyes, letting out a breath she felt like she had been holding for five agonizing years. "Good," she murmured. "Now... let's go inside our house."
