Chapter 2 - The Security Escort
The property manager, a tall man named Mr. Henderson, did not offer a polite greeting. His expression was cold, clinical, and utterly unbothered by Pamela’s expensive outfit.
“May I help you?” Pamela snapped, crossing her arms and crossing her ankles in a posture of practiced superiority. “We’re relaxing right now. If you’re the catering service, the kitchen is around the back.”
“Miss Bennett,” Mr. Henderson said, checking his tablet. “I am here to inform you that reservation number 8804 has been canceled in full by the primary party, Mrs. Naomi Bennett. The lease agreement for this property has been terminated effective ten minutes ago.”
Betsy walked into the foyer, holding her crystal champagne glass, a amused smirk playing on her lips. “Don’t be ridiculous. My daughter-in-law paid for this place. It’s ours for the week. Now leave before I report your insolence to the board.”
“Mrs. Bennett—the other Mrs. Bennett—has revoked all guest privileges,” Mr. Henderson replied, his voice completely devoid of emotion. “She has also instructed us that you and your daughter are no longer permitted on the premises. Per property policy, you have fifteen minutes to pack your personal belongings and clear the estate.”
The smirk froze on Betsy’s face. “You can’t do that! My son is Lucas Bennett!”
“I don’t care if your son is the Governor, ma’am,” Mr. Henderson stated calmly. “The credit card used to secure this $120,000 booking belonged exclusively to Naomi Bennett. She revoked the payment, paid the early cancellation forfeiture fee, and instructed us to clear the house. You have fourteen minutes left.”
One of the broad-shouldered security guards stepped forward, pulling a heavy brass master key from his belt. “If you fail to vacate the premises within fifteen minutes, we will file formal charges for criminal trespassing, and county deputies will be called to escort you off the mountain.”
Pamela panicked. “Mom! Do something! Call Lucas!”
Betsy pulled out her gold-cased smartphone with trembling hands and dialed Lucas’s cell phone. It went straight to voicemail after a single ring. She tried again. “The party you are trying to reach has blocked your number.”
Gasping in outrage, Betsy quickly opened her banking app to call a private chauffeur service to pick them up in style. She tapped her credit card details into the car app—the card Lucas had issued under his business account.
A bright red notification flashed across her screen: TRANSACTION DECLINED. CARD STATUS: FROZEN BY PRIMARY ACCOUNT HOLDER.
“What is happening?!” Betsy shrieked, dropping her phone onto the rug. “His card was declined! How dare he!”
“Ten minutes, ladies,” Mr. Henderson said, looking down at his watch. “I suggest you start packing your bags. My officers will remain in the doorway to ensure nothing belonging to the estate is removed.”
For the next ten minutes, the grand estate was filled with the frantic sounds of Betsy and Pamela screaming at each other as they shoved designer clothes, curling irons, and cosmetics into their oversized, matching luggage. Gone was the arrogant composure they had displayed while kicking Walter’s suitcase. Now, they were sweating, swearing, and dragging their own heavy bags down the grand staircase without anyone to assist them.
When they reached the driveway, the front doors were slammed shut behind them, and the heavy iron gate at the edge of the driveway automatically rolled shut, locking them out in the cool mountain air.
Stand alone on the gravel driveway, surrounded by four massive suitcases, Betsy pulled out her backup credit card—the one linked to her personal savings account, which held a modest balance meant only for emergency nail appointments.
“It’s fine, Pamela,” Betsy said, her voice cracking as she tried to maintain her pride. “We’ll just order an Uber to the five-star spa resort down the valley. We don’t need Naomi’s little lake house. I’ll make Lucas fix this by tonight.”
Betsy pulled up the ride-share app, typed in the location of the nearest luxury hotel, and tapped Confirm Purchase for an express luxury car.
The app processed for three agonizing seconds before spinning red: INSUFFICIENT FUNDS.
Betsy stared at the screen in pure terror. She had forgotten that her auto-pay mortgage and monthly luxury car lease had processed that very morning, leaving her personal account with a grand total of $43.12.
May you like
Her phone chimed. It was a text from Pamela’s phone.
Pamela looked up from her screen, her face ghostly pale, pointing at her phone with a shaking finger. “Mom... look at Instagram.”
