Chapter 3 - The Parasites Dig In
Teresa didn't pack her bags. Instead, she threw a historical tantrum.
She locked herself and her quiet, spineless husband, Arthur Senior, into the grand east-wing parlor, threatening to call the police, the press, and the local news stations to report "elder abuse."
"You can't throw us out!" Teresa shrieked through the locked parlor door. "My son's name is on the deed! We have legal residency rights! You touch our belongings, and I'll have you arrested, you cold-hearted witch!"
I stood in the hallway, flanked by two burly security guards from Vance & Sterling’s private protection detail.
"Is his name on the deed, Marcus?" I asked into my earpiece.
"Not anymore," Marcus replied from his office. "The Greenwich land registry updated thirty minutes ago. David’s name was added via a fraudulent power of attorney three months ago. Once we presented the forensic handwriting analysis to the district magistrate this afternoon, his name was struck from the record. The property belongs one hundred percent to Eleanor Hayes."
"Good," I said aloud.
I looked at the security guards. "Don't touch them. Don't break the door. Turn off the central heating to the east wing, disable the Wi-Fi in that sector, and shut down the hot water lines. If they want to squat in my house, they can experience winter in Connecticut properly."
By 8:00 PM, the temperature inside the unheated east wing had dropped to forty-two degrees Fahrenheit.
While Teresa and Arthur huddled under decorative cashmere throws in the dark, screaming into their phones, I sat in my warm study, reviewing the financial autopsy of David’s company.
It was far worse than I had anticipated.
David hadn't just been cheating; he was a terrible businessman playing with big money. Hayes Global Logistics was two million dollars in debt to a shadowy private equity group operating out of Miami. He had pledged my family’s estate as collateral for a high-risk loan to finance illegal shipping routes through Eastern Europe.
"Eleanor," Marcus called me again. "We have a situation. David just arrived at the front gate in a yellow taxi. He spent his last two hundred dollars in cash to get from Teterboro to Greenwich."
I looked at the security monitors on my desk. Through the high-definition rain-slicked camera feed, I saw David standing outside the heavy wrought-iron gates of the estate, soaked to the bone, banging his fists against the intercom panel.
His tailored suit was ruined by the pouring rain. His hair was plastered to his forehead. The smooth, handsome prince who had kissed me goodbye at JFK six hours ago looked like a drowned rat.
I pressed the intercom button.
"Eleanor!" David’s voice wailed through the speaker, distorted by rain and panic. "Let me in! Please! It’s freezing out here! My mother is inside! Let me talk to you!"
"David," I said calmly into the mic. "You look wet."
"Eleanor, I'm sorry! I was stupid! Chloe seduced me, she tricked me into giving her the money! I don't care about her, I swear! I love you! I've always loved you!"
I laughed. It was a clear, ringing sound that echoed through the wet night.
"You loved my bank account, David. You loved my family's reputation. You loved the shield I provided while you played billionaire," I said, my voice hardening. "You left your parents here to keep me busy so I wouldn't check the accounts for four years. You wanted me to be your servant, your bank, and your fall guy."
"Eleanor, please! Just open the gate!"
"The police have already been dispatched, David," I replied softly. "I filed an emergency restraining order based on the corporate embezzlement charges and your forged power of attorney. If you are still on my curb when the squad cars arrive in five minutes, you’ll spend the night in a cell."
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Through the camera, I watched David freeze. He looked down the long, dark driveway, hearing the distant, faint wail of police sirens echoing down the Greenwich avenue.
With a desperate curse, he turned and began sprinting down the dark road into the pouring rain.
