Chapter 3 - The Eviction Protocol
By the time I reached the sunroom, the patio outside was a scene of utter chaos. Guests were scrambling toward the driveway, eager to escape the impending legal explosion, while several high-society figures were openly recording Beatrice on their phones as she shrieked at her son.
I opened the sunroom door, lifting Lily gently into my arms. She weighed almost nothing, her small body trembling against my chest.
"I've got you, baby," I whispered, holding her head against my shoulder. "You never have to be scared in this house again."
"Mommy..." Lily sobbed softly, wrapping her tiny arms around my neck. "Aunt Beatrice said if I told you, she would send me to a boarding school far away and keep the house for herself."
"Aunt Beatrice is never touching this house again, sweetheart. I promise you."
I carried Lily down the hall to the master bedroom, placing her on the soft king-sized bed. My private security detail—four towering men in dark suits led by my head of security, Agent Marcus Vance—stepped into the hallway behind me.
"Marcus," I said, without turning around.
"Yes, Ms. Sterling?" Marcus replied, his voice gruff and efficient.
"Lock down the estate grounds. Ensure no vehicles leave until the police arrive, except for departing guests who have been checked by security to ensure no household property is being removed. And secure all financial ledgers left in the guest house."
"Consider it done."
Ten minutes later, the heavy oak doors of the master suite burst open. Beatrice stormed in, her designer dress disheveled, her eyes bloodshot with frantic rage. Behind her dragged Mason, who was crying hysterically.
"Are you insane?!" Beatrice shrieked, her voice reaching a shrill, hysterical pitch. "You humiliated me! In front of the Mayor! In front of the entire country club! Do you have any idea what you've done to my reputation?!"
I stood up slowly from the edge of the bed, stepping between Beatrice and my daughter. My posture was rigid, my eyes cold as arctic ice.
"Your reputation?" I said softly. "You let your son throw my eight-year-old daughter down a flight of stairs. You hid her broken leg in a hot room without pain medication. You let your son wear her stolen jewelry. And you spent my money to host a party for your own social vanity."
"It was an accident!" Beatrice screamed, her hands waving wildly. "Mason is just a child! He didn't mean it! And Lily is fine! Kids break bones all the time!"
"Mason is a bully, and you are a criminal," I replied flatly. "You have thirty minutes to pack your personal clothing from the guest house. If you touch one piece of art, one piece of silverware, or one document, I will press federal charges for structural theft."
"You can't kick us out!" Beatrice yelled, stepping closer, pointing a shaking finger at my face. "I have rights! I've been living in the guest house for six months! You gave me permission!"
May you like
"I gave you temporary tenancy contingent on caring for my daughter," I said, pulling a legal document from my briefcase on the desk and tossing it onto the bed in front of her. "Which you breached the moment you committed child abuse. The sheriff is currently at the front gates. You can leave on your own feet, or in handcuffs. Choose now."
Beatrice stared at the legal eviction warrant, the red seal of the county court gleaming on the paper. The reality finally crashed over her face, draining the color from her cheeks.
