Chapter 2 - Garbage Bags and Goodbyes
Marjorie dropped the trash bag she was holding. The plastic split open, spilling my cashmere sweaters across the hardwood floor.
"This is outrageous!" she shrieked, her voice vibrating with high-society panic. "Dean, do something! She can't just throw us out! We're packing her clothes!"
"Actually, ma'am," Officer Vance said, stepping between Marjorie and the pile of clothes. "You need to step away from those items. Right now, you are destroying and tampering with property that belongs exclusively to the primary resident. I suggest you put your hands where I can see them."
Walter looked like he was having a stroke. He slowly set down the box of my office files, his hands trembling. "Dean... what did she do? What does she mean, her personal capital?"
Dean was staring at me, his eyes wild with a mixture of hatred and realization. He finally understood the trap he had walked into. He had spent months sleeping with Vanessa, months planning this ambush, months ensuring his parents would be here to humiliate me the exact morning after his company was safe. He thought he had timed it perfectly.
He had forgotten that I am a master of timing.
"You used your grandmother's trust," Dean whispered, his voice shaking. "The money you said you'd never touch."
"I touched it to save the father of my son from going to federal prison for corporate embezzlement," I said, my voice cold and hard as stone. "I did it because, despite everything, I thought you were just drowning. I didn't know you were a rat trying to scuttle the ship after stealing the lifeboats."
I turned my gaze to Vanessa, who was shrinking against the refrigerator, trying to pull my pale blue silk robe tighter around her body to hide from the police officers' steady glares.
"I told you once, Vanessa," I said quietly. "Take off my robe."
"Natalie, please," Vanessa stammered, her tough-girl act completely evaporating. "I—Dean told me you guys were already separated. He told me the house was his."
"I don't care what the rat told you," I replied. "Take it off. Now. Or Officer Vance can assist you in changing into a standard-issue orange jumpsuit for receiving stolen property."
With shaking hands, Vanessa untied the silk sash. Underneath, she was wearing a cheap camisole and shorts. She let the robe fall to the floor in a pathetic, crumpled heap. I didn't even look at it.
"Agent Miller," I said, turning my back on them. "Please enforce the eviction mandate. Mr. Prescott, his parents, and his mistress have exactly ten minutes to gather their cell phones and wallets. Everything else in this house—including the clothes they packed into those garbage bags—remains here until a court-ordered inventory is completed."
"You can't keep my clothes!" Dean yelled, stepping toward me. Officer Vance immediately placed a hand on his nightstick, stepping into Dean's path.
"Mr. Prescott, move toward the door," Vance ordered. "Now."
"Natalie, what about Oliver?" Marjorie cried out, suddenly realizing her leverage was gone. "You can't do this while your son is upstairs!"
As if on cue, the soft sound of footsteps echoed from the top of the stairs. My heart skipped a beat. I turned to see my six-year-old boy, rubbing his eyes, holding his favorite stuffed bear, looking down at the chaotic scene in our foyer.
"Mommy?" Oliver whispered, his voice small and frightened by the sight of the uniforms. "Why are there police in our kitchen?"
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I bypassed Dean, bypassed his parents, and ran up the stairs, scooping my son into my arms before he could look too closely at the garbage bags filled with his mother's life.
"It's okay, baby," I whispered into his hair, shielding his face. "Mommy's just doing some early spring cleaning. The bad smell is finally leaving the house."
