Chapter 5 - Eviction and RetributionThe next thirty minutes were a symphony of shattered egos and hysterical shrieking.
Brooke threw a full-blown tantrum in the master bedroom, screaming obscenities as she tried to stuff diamond-encrusted watches into her pockets, only for the female security officer to calmly strip them from her wrists and place them back on the vanity.
Lorraine refused to pack at first, sitting regally on the velvet sofa in the formal living room, insisting that her lawyer would have the injunction reversed within the hour. But when Arthur Vance casually informed her that her private banking associates in New York had already cooperated with federal investigators and were preparing indictments for her immediate arrest, the fragile pillar of her arrogance finally collapsed.
With trembling, age-spotted hands, Lorraine dumped a few simple dresses into a generic canvas duffel bag. Her golden chains had been removed; her silk blouse was rumpled. She looked every bit of her seventy-two years—a small, bitter woman whose obsession with control had utterly destroyed her legacy.
As the two security guards escorted Lorraine and Brooke out the front double doors, the pearl-white SUV sat gleaming in the driveway. Brooke lunged toward it instinctively, reaching for the door handle.
“Step away from the vehicle, Ms. Costa,” the security guard instructed firmly, blocking her path.
Brooke turned around, her face twisted in pure, venomous hatred as she looked up at Ethan, who stood on the stone porch watching them leave.
“You’ll rot for this, Ethan!” Brooke screamed, her voice cracking as tears of humiliation streamed down her cheeks. “You threw away your real family for a dying piece of trash! We will make sure everyone knows what a pathetic, ungrateful monster you are!”
Lorraine didn't scream. She simply stared at her son with cold, dead eyes—eyes that held no remorse, only a lingering, venomous contempt.
“You are no son of mine,” Lorraine whispered harshly.
“Good,” Ethan replied quietly. “Because I never really had a mother.”
The security guards ushered them off the property, guiding them down the long driveway toward the iron gates where a standard taxi was waiting—a taxi Ethan had ordered specifically to drop them off at a budget motel three miles away.
The heavy iron gates swung closed with a resounding, metallic clank.
Ethan stood on the porch for a long moment, listening to the sudden, profound silence wash over the estate. The toxic energy that had suffocated the house for years was gone. The parasites had been purged.
He turned around, walked back through the grand foyer, and headed straight down the service hallway to the utility room.
He unlocked the wooden door and pushed it open.
Natalie was sitting on the edge of the cot, watching the driveway from the small, high window. When she saw him step inside, her breath caught.
“They’re gone?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Ethan walked over, extended his hand, and offered a warm, gentle smile.
May you like
“They’re gone,” Ethan said softly. “Forever.”
He helped her up from the narrow cot, wrapping his strong arm securely around her waist. “Now... let’s get you out of this room and into your real home.”
