Chapter 1 - The Eviction Notice
The air in my Mercedes AMG was crisp and quiet, cold air blowing softly from the vents as I pulled onto the highway heading back toward downtown Austin. On the passenger seat lay my leather handbag, containing the $10,000 cash envelope—still smelling faintly of greasy pizza crust, but firm and heavy.
My phone rang through the car’s Bluetooth system. The console display read: Mom.
I tapped the screen. "Hi, Mom."
"Rachel!" my mother’s voice erupted through the speakers, shrill and breathless. "What on earth did you do?! Justin just called me sobbing! He said you walked out of Tiffany's baby shower, and five minutes later his work email logged him out! He says he got a formal firing letter from your HR director! Tell me this is a mistake!"
I kept my eyes fixed on the highway ahead, my hands holding the leather steering wheel with relaxed, absolute control.
"It's not a mistake, Mom," I said smoothly. "I fired him."
"Rachel!" Mom gasped, her voice cracking with pure panic. "He’s your brother! Tiffany is seven months pregnant! They just bought that condo! Why would you do something so cruel over a little family misunderstanding?!"
"A misunderstanding?" A bitter, dry chuckle escaped my throat. "Mom, I handed Tiffany a ten-thousand-dollar cash gift. She scoffed, called me cheap, and threw the money into a dirty trash can full of rotten fruit and pizza grease. And your precious son stood right beside her, laughed in my face, and joined in on her joke in front of twenty people."
There was a long, heavy silence on the other end of the line. For three seconds, I thought my mother might finally express an ounce of maternal outrage on my behalf.
Instead, she let out a loud, defensive sigh. "Rachel, you know how sensitive Tiffany is right now! Her hormones are all over the place! She’s under so much pressure with the baby coming. Maybe she was just joking around! You've always been so rigid and unforgiving, Rachel. You can't ruin your brother’s livelihood over her silly mood swings!"
Hormones.
I felt a cold, sharp disgust settle in my chest.
"Mom," I said, my voice dropping to a low, icy frequency that made her stop breathing. "For three years, I paid Justin sixty thousand dollars a year to sit at a desk and scroll through social media. I gave him my spare apartment rent-free. When he got Tiffany pregnant, you sold Dad’s house to buy them a condo, and I paid fifty thousand dollars in wedding fees. I have funded his entire pathetic existence. Today, he watched his wife throw my hard-earned money into garbage and laughed at me."
"Rachel, please—"
"He is officially terminated, Mom. His company credit card is canceled, his building keycard is revoked, and he has thirty days to vacate my luxury apartment on 4th Street, which he has been living in rent-free for thirty-six months."
"You can't throw him out of the apartment!" Mom screamed, her voice bordering on hysterical. "Where are they supposed to go?! Their condo is still under interior renovation! They can't move in there yet!"
"That sounds like a problem for Justin and his wealthy, high-class in-laws," I replied coldly. "Don't call me again today, Mom. If you do, I will instruct my accountant to audit the secondary allowance account I set up for your retirement."
Before she could scream another word, I disconnected the call.
I pulled into the private underground parking garage of my office tower on Congress Avenue. As the heavy security gate closed behind me, my phone chimed again.
This time, it was a text from Justin:
“Rachel, what the hell is wrong with you?! Unblock my email right now! Tiffany’s mother was just making a harmless comment! You’re acting like a crazy, bitter bitch! If you don't fix my job status by tonight, I’m telling Mom to disown you!”
I stared at the text screen for two seconds.
I didn't reply. Instead, I forwarded the screenshot directly to my head of corporate security, accompanied by a brief message:
“Ensure Justin Miller is permanently barred from entering the building. If he attempts to enter the lobby, escort him off the property immediately.”
I stepped out of the car, smoothed down the lapels of my designer blazer, and headed up the private elevator to the top floor.
At 4:30 PM, Sarah, my HR Director, walked into my glass-walled corner office carrying a thick manila folder.
"All server permissions have been severed, Rachel," Sarah reported, her tone crisp and efficient. "Justin’s laptop was remotely wiped at 3:15 PM. His final paycheck, including his accrued PTO, has been processed via direct deposit."
"Thank you, Sarah," I said, leaning back in my leather chair. "Did he leave any company property at the apartment?"
"We sent a courier to retrieve his company iPad and parking pass," Sarah noted, hesitation creeping into her voice. "He refused to open the door, but the courier reported hearing yelling inside. Apparently, Tiffany’s mother arrived at the apartment twenty minutes ago."
"Good," I smiled thinly, picking up my pen. "Let them yell."
I knew how Tiffany’s mind worked. She hadn't married Justin because she loved his personality or his boyish charm. She had married him because he drove a brand-new BMW (which I leased for him), lived in a high-rise downtown penthouse (which I owned), and boasted about working as a "senior executive" at a premier marketing firm (a title I had given him to satisfy his ego).
She believed she was marrying into elite Austin wealth.
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She had no idea that behind Justin’s designer suit and polished image was a penniless leech who couldn't even pay his own phone bill without my corporate card.
And now, the curtain was about to rise on the real show.
