Chapter 4 - The Return to Brooklyn and the Police Report
Two days later, bruised, exhausted, and smelling faintly of cheap bus station air, Eleanor, Chloe, and Mark arrived back in Brooklyn. They had been forced to pawn two of Chloe’s designer handbags just to afford Greyhound bus tickets back north—a humiliating downgrade from the first-class flights they had taken down to Florida.
They dragged their designer luggage up the steps of the Park Slope apartment building, fuming with righteous indignation.
"When I get my hands on Maya, I’m going to rip her apart," Chloe hissed, digging through her purse for her apartment key. "This is all her doing. She poisoned David’s mind while we were away. She’s a manipulative parasite!"
Chloe pushed her key into the front door lock. It turned, but the latch didn't click. She tried the handle. The door swung open smoothly.
"That’s weird, David usually keeps the deadbolt locked," Mark muttered, stepping inside ahead of them.
The moment they walked into the apartment, Eleanor froze. The air inside was dead, cold, and smelled faintly of fresh paint and cleaning chemicals. But it wasn't the temperature that made Eleanor’s breath catch; it was the absolute emptiness.
Gone were the baby’s bassinet, the diapers, the formula cans, and Maya’s nursing pillows. The living room was entirely stripped. Even the framed family portraits of Eleanor that had hung proudly on the hallway walls had been taken down, leaving pale rectangles on the wallpaper.
"Maya?! David?!" Eleanor called out, her voice echoing hollowly in the quiet space.
No answer.
Chloe rushed into the master bedroom. The closet was half-empty. Maya’s clothes, her shoes, her hospital discharge bag, and Liam’s nursery items were completely gone. On the polished wooden dresser sat a single white envelope with Eleanor’s name written on it in David’s precise, neat handwriting.
Eleanor snatched the envelope, ripping it open with trembling fingers. A single set of apartment keys fell out onto the wood, alongside a formal legal notice bearing the letterhead of a Manhattan family law firm.
She scanned the letter, her eyes widening in sheer horror as the legal terminology registered: Notice of Eviction and Restraining Order. Pursuant to New York Family Court statutes and civil code regarding dependent endangerment, negligence, and financial exploitation...
Before Eleanor could finish reading, the front door clicked open. Three figures stepped into the hallway.
It wasn't David. It was two uniformed NYPD officers and a tall, stern-looking building inspector.
"Eleanor Vance, Chloe Vance, and Mark Davis?" the lead officer asked, his hand resting casually on his utility belt.
"Yes?" Eleanor stammered, clutching the letter to her chest like a shield. "Who are you? What is the meaning of this? This is our son’s apartment!"
"Not anymore," the officer replied, pulling a document from his clipboard. "We are here to execute a formal eviction notice on behalf of the primary leaseholder, David Vance. Furthermore, we have an active police report filed by Mr. Vance detailing severe domestic neglect, endangerment of a minor, and financial fraud regarding unauthorized appropriations totaling over one hundred thousand dollars over the past twelve months."
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Mark turned pale as a ghost. "Fraud? Are you out of your minds? We’re family!"
"Family or not," the second officer said, stepping forward, "leaving a postpartum surgical patient without food, heat, or medical care while stealing her designated care funds constitutes criminal endangerment. You have fifteen minutes to collect your personal belongings and vacate the premises. Any further attempts to contact David Vance, Maya Vance, or enter this property will result in immediate arrest."
