Part 4: The Fall of the Mistress
The eviction was a public spectacle.
Tiffany Blake stood on the sidewalk of Chicago’s most expensive street, surrounded by four large cardboard boxes containing her designer clothes and a handful of fur coats. A small crowd of onlookers and paparazzi had gathered, snapping photos of the high-society darling looking disheveled and frantic.
Derek stood beside her, looking equally pathetic. He was wearing a wrinkled suit, holding a duffel bag.
"This is your fault!" Tiffany screamed at him, completely ignoring the cameras. "You said this place was safe! You said your brother couldn't touch it!"
"I didn't know he owned the entire building LLC, Tiffany!" Derek shouted back, his voice cracked with exhaustion. "Where are we supposed to go? My credit is shot. I can't even rent a regular apartment without a co-signer!"
"We?" Tiffany laughed, a high-pitched, manic sound. She looked at him with pure disgust. "There is no 'we,' Derek. You’re broke. You’re unemployed. You’re a pariah. Do you really think I stayed with you for your personality? You were a ticket to the Rivers fortune. Now you're just baggage."
She flagged down a taxi, shoving her boxes into the trunk with the help of a disgruntled driver, and climbed inside without looking back. She left Derek standing on the sidewalk alone, his life reduced to a single duffel bag and the realization that he had thrown away everything for a woman who didn't even know his favorite color.
Desperate and humiliated, Derek did the only thing his arrogance would allow. He went to find his brother.
He broke past the security gate at Rivers Industries headquarters by using an old emergency access code that hadn't been deactivated yet. He stormed up to the eighty-fourth floor, breathing heavily, his eyes wild.
"Cameron!" Derek shouted, bursting into his brother’s executive suite.
Jennifer, Cameron’s loyal assistant, stood up immediately. "Sir, you cannot be in here. I'm calling security."
"Let him stay, Jennifer," Cameron’s voice echoed from the inner office.
Cameron stepped out, looking immaculate in a charcoal three-piece suit. He looked at his younger brother—the wrinkled clothes, the bloodshot eyes, the scent of desperation—and felt a profound sense of pity, but no regret.
"Look at me, Cameron!" Derek cried, his hands shaking. "You did this to me! You took my job, you took my money, you took my reputation! I’m your brother! We grew up in the same house! How can you do this to your own flesh and blood over a girl from the South Side?"
Cameron walked slowly toward him, stopping just inches away. The sheer intensity of his gaze made Derek’s shouting die down.
"Never disparage her background again," Cameron said, his voice dangerously low. "Simone is twice the person you will ever be. She came from nothing and built a life of dignity. You came from everything and turned yourself into trash."
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"I made a mistake!" Derek wept, dropping to his knees. He grabbed the fabric of Cameron’s trousers. "Please, Cam. Just give me a job. Anything. A managerial position in Denver, or Europe. Just let me have my life back. I’ll sign whatever Simone wants. Just don't destroy me completely."
Cameron looked down at him, his face expressionless. "You destroyed yourself, Derek. The moment you stood by and let another human being harm your pregnant wife, you forfeited your right to this family. Security is on their way up. I suggest you walk out before they carry you out."
