Chapter 3 - The Eviction Notice
Arthur proved even more useless than his wife when the reality of the situation finally penetrated his thick skull.
By 3:30 PM, the elderly couple had been unceremoniously escorted out of the master suite and down to the front porch by two private security guards I had hired through Marcus Price’s firm. Their designer luggage sat stacked neatly on the welcome mat, flanked by Margaret’s endless complaints and Arthur’s bewildered mumblings about his golf clubs.
“This is illegal!” Margaret screamed from the driveway, waving her cane at the security guards as they stood at parade rest. “We are going to sue you for elder abuse, Claire! Nathan will have you put away!”
“Tell Nathan to call me when he finds a phone that accepts collect calls,” I called down from the second-story balcony, sipping a glass of iced lemon water.
I watched as a crestfallen, sputtering cab pulled up to the curb—apparently, none of Nathan’s friends were willing to answer his frantic calls once word got out that his primary funding had been abruptly cut off. Watched by my guards, Margaret and Arthur dragged their expensive leather suitcases into the back of a standard sedan and sped away, leaving behind nothing but tire marks and lingering bitterness.
The house was finally quiet.
I walked back inside, letting out a long, shuddering breath. The adrenaline that had fueled my afternoon was beginning to recede, leaving a hollow ache in my chest. Ten years. Ten years of anniversaries, quiet dinners, compromises, and believing that we were building a life together. It had all been a convenient facade for a man who viewed marriage as a corporate merger where he held all the voting shares.
My phone rang again. This time, it wasn't Nathan.
It was my personal attorney, David Vance.
“Claire,” David’s smooth, baritone voice filled the receiver. “I got your emergency message. Are you sitting down?”
“I’m standing in my living room watching my former in-laws pack themselves into a taxi cab, David. Try me.”
David chuckled softly on the other end. “Well, that saves us an formal eviction filing. As for the financial assets, I’ve reviewed the preliminary statements. Because you and Nathan signed a post-nuptial agreement three years ago—one that you wisely insisted on tying directly to asset origin—his personal business accounts are frozen pending forensic audit, but your personal real estate holdings and trust accounts are completely bulletproof.”
“And the joint checking accounts?”
“Frozen by your direct order, which is entirely legal under our state laws given the immediate dissipation of marital assets for adulterous purposes. In short, Nathan is currently locked out of approximately four million dollars in liquidity, and his credit score is about to plummet faster than a lead balloon.”
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A cold sense of satisfaction washed over me. “Good. I want a fast-track dissolution, David. No drawn-out public court battles if we can avoid it, but I want him stripped of every single asset he tried to shield under our corporate umbrella.”
“Leave it to me,” David said. “And Claire? Good for you.”
