Chapter 3 - The Confrontation on Rosewood
The black luxury SUV glided down Rosewood Avenue, its polished paint reflecting the gray, run-down buildings.
For me, this street was home, but seeing it through the tinted windows of a billionaire's car made it look different. The trash on the sidewalks, the flickering streetlights, the rusted fire escapes—it all looked so fragile.
When the car pulled up to our apartment building, a crowd had gathered.
Two large moving trucks were parked at the curb. Several men in dirty jumpsuits were carrying a faded, familiar blue armchair down the steps.
My heart jumped into my throat. "Mom's chair!"
I flung the car door open before the driver could even step out, running toward the steps. "Stop! That's ours! You can't take that!"
A man in a cheap, grease-stained suit with a clipboard stood near the truck, chewing on a toothpick. It was Donald Finch, our landlord.
"Move it, kid," Finch sneered, not even looking at me. "Your mother hasn't paid rent in two months. The eviction notice said Friday, but I found a tenant willing to pay double starting tonight. You're out."
"Finch!"
A voice like thunder rolled down the street.
Finch turned, his smug expression faltering as Robert Sterling stepped out of the back of the black SUV, flanked by four massive security guards in dark suits.
"Who the hell are you?" Finch asked, though his eyes lingered on the security detail and the luxury vehicle.
"I am the new owner of this building," Robert said, walking slowly up the cracked pavement. "And you are currently trespassing on my property."
My mother, Clara, stepped out of the building’s front door. She was wearing her work uniform—a faded apron from the diner down the street—and her face was pale, her eyes red from crying. She was holding a box of my old school books.
When her eyes met Robert's, she froze. The box slipped from her hands, sending the books tumbling down the concrete steps.
"Dad?" she whispered.
"Clara," Robert said, his voice breaking as he looked at his daughter. "I'm so sorry. I'm so incredibly sorry."
Finch laughed, trying to regain his footing. "I don't care who you are, old man. This building is mine. I have a court order—"
"No, you don't," Marcus, the lawyer, said, stepping out of a second vehicle holding a tablet. "As of exactly twelve minutes ago, Sterling Energy acquired Apex Holdings. You were sent a digital notification of termination. You are no longer the landlord, Mr. Finch. In fact, our forensic audit has already flagged your company for thirty-four building code violations and illegal eviction practices. The police are on their way."
Finch’s face turned the color of spoiled milk. He looked at the tablet, then at the massive security guards closing in on him.
"You... you can't do this," Finch stammered, backing toward his moving truck.
May you like
"I can, and I have," Robert said, looking down at the slumlord with absolute contempt. "Get your trucks off my street. If I see your face on Rosewood Avenue again, my legal team will make sure you spend the next ten years in a federal penitentiary."
Within thirty seconds, the moving men threw our furniture back onto the lawn and scrambled into their trucks, speeding away so fast their tires shrieked.
