Chapter 3 - The Eviction of the Parasites
The sun rose over Bayside Heights at 6:30 AM, casting a brilliant golden light through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the grand living room.
By 7:00 AM, a heavy commercial truck pulled into the circular driveway.
Four large men in blue overalls stepped out, led by a locksmith and a private security team I had hired through Mark’s firm.
Downstairs in the master suite, the door burst open. Prudence jumped out of bed, wrapped in a fluffy silk robe, her face red and blotchy from crying all night.
"What is that noise?!" she screamed, marching out into the hallway. "Who told you people to—"
She stopped dead in her tracks.
Two security guards stood at the entrance of the hallway, their arms crossed over their tactical vests. Behind them, two workmen were already using power tools to unscrew the heavy brass hinges of the double doors to the master bedroom.
Gertrude emerged from her guest room down the hall, wearing a cashmere cardigan over her nightgown, her hands shaking.
"David! What is the meaning of this barbarism?!" Gertrude demanded, pointing a finger at the workmen. "They are tearing down the doors!"
I stepped out of the dining room, holding a mug of dark black coffee. I was dressed in fresh jeans and a plain black t-shirt. Beside me stood two men in sharp suits—Mark’s lead private investigator, Vance, and a court-appointed sheriff's deputy.
"Good morning, Gertrude. Good morning, Prudence," I said smoothly, taking a sip of coffee. "You have two hours to pack your bags."
Prudence let out a high-pitched, hysterical laugh. "Pack our bags?! Are you insane?! This is our house! Mother's name is on the registration!"
"Was on the registration," Deputy Miller corrected, stepping forward and pulling a folded sheaf of legal documents from his jacket pocket. "As of 6:00 AM this morning, an emergency injunction was signed by Judge Harrison at the county courthouse. Due to clear evidence of fraudulent title transfer using forged power-of-attorney documents, the property title for 104 Bayside Heights Boulevard has been reverted solely to David Ward."
Gertrude’s eyes bulged. "Forged?! I didn't forge anything! He gave me permission!"
"You signed his name on the deed modification in 2022 while he was three thousand miles away in an industrial desert without legal representation," Vance, the investigator, said with a cold, professional smile. "That’s a Class 2 felony, Mrs. Ward. We also tracked the $180,000 you withdrew from the joint construction fund to buy a beachfront condo in Florida under Prudence's name."
Prudence gasped, her face draining of all color. She looked at her mother in sheer terror. "Mother... you said he would never find out! You said he didn't check those accounts!"
"Shut up, you idiot!" Gertrude shrieked, swinging her arm to hit Prudence’s shoulder.
"The Florida condo has been seized under a temporary freezing order," Deputy Miller continued, ignoring their squabbling. "You ladies have until 9:00 AM to pack personal clothing items only. Any jewelry, designer bags, artwork, or luxury goods purchased using funds from David Ward's accounts are considered evidence of grand larceny and must remain on the property."
"NO!" Prudence screamed, lunging toward her bedroom. "My bags! My Chanel! I bought those!"
A security guard stepped cleanly into her path, his broad shoulder blocking the doorway.
"Personal clothing only, ma'am," the guard said in a deep, immovable voice. "Sweatpants, shirts, basic shoes. Leave the fur coats and jewelry on the bed."
Gertrude collapsed onto her knees right there in the hallway, grabbing the hem of my jeans, weeping hysterically.
"David! My son! My flesh and blood!" she wailed, tears streaming down her wrinkled face, smearing her makeup into a grotesque mess. "How can you do this to your own mother?! I raised you! I suffered for you when you were a child! Is this how you repay me?! Throwing me into the street like trash?!"
I looked down at her.
Five years ago, those tears would have cut me to the heart. Five years ago, I would have sacrificed my own comfort to make sure she was happy. But now, all I could see was Sarah sitting on a plastic stool in the dark, feeding my son sour rice while this woman drank eighty-dollar scotch thirty feet away.
"You didn't raise me to be a fool, Gertrude," I said softly, crouching down so my eyes were level with hers. "And you didn't throw trash into the street. You threw my wife and my son behind a kitchen. You treated them like animals."
"I was trying to keep her humble!" Gertrude sobbed, trying to grab my hands. "She was spending your money! She was—"
"She didn't spend a single cent," I cut her off, my voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper. "She didn't even have shoes that fit her. But you know what the best part is?"
May you like
Gertrude blinked through her tears. "What?"
"You spent five years making sure my wife lived like a servant in my house," I said, standing back up. "Now, you're going to spend the next five years paying back every single dollar you stole from her."
