Chapter 3 - The Expulsion
Across the street, the sudden darkness of the suburban house seemed to plunge Mark and Eleanor into absolute panic. Through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of our new mansion, I watched the chaotic silhouette of activity unfold under the moonlight. Flashlight beams darted frantically against the windows as Mark tried to navigate the pitch-black hallways, while Eleanor stood on the porch, waving her arms and screaming incoherently at the empty night air.
My mother was resting on the plush sofa in the master suite on the ground floor, a cup of chamomile tea warming her hands. The twins were fast asleep in a magnificent, custom-built nursery down the hall, completely exhausted from the day’s emotional turmoil.
Suddenly, the security monitor by the front entrance chimed. A sharp, rhythmic hammering echoed through the foyer.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Clara! Open this door right now! I know you’re in there!” Mark’s voice boomed through the intercom system, laced with frantic desperation and rising anger. “You think you can play games with me? This is our home! My name is on the mortgage!”
I strolled calmly toward the front door, slipping my hands into the pockets of my cashmere trousers. I pressed the intercom button, my voice crisp and amplified through the outdoor speakers.
“Your name is not on the mortgage, Mark,” I replied evenly. “In fact, your name isn’t on a single legal document associated with this property, nor is it on the house across the street. Both properties are registered entirely under my sole corporate entity, Apex Holdings. You are nothing more than a squatter who happened to share my bed.”
A heavy silence fell on the other side of the door for a moment, followed by a frantic rattle of the heavy brass handle.
“Stop lying!” Mark screamed, his voice cracking. “You’re just a programmer! You couldn’t possibly afford a multi-million-dollar estate like this! You’ve been hiding money from me! That’s embezzlement! I’ll call the IRS! I’ll call your company board!”
“Go ahead,” I said, a dry laugh escaping my lips. “Call whoever you like. Tell them that your wife owns the company you’ve been bragging about working for, while you were actually just an entry-level department assistant who got fired six months ago for harassment.”
On the monitor, I saw Mark freeze. The color drained entirely from his face. He hadn’t known that I knew about his termination. He thought his elaborate charade of leaving for a ‘corporate job’ every morning while actually spending his days golfing and gambling with my credit cards was still a secret.
“Clara… let’s talk about this like adults,” Mark’s tone shifted instantly, dripping with oily, desperate sweetness. The arrogance vanished, replaced by the pathetic whimper of a man realizing his free ride had officially crashed into a brick wall. “Come on, babe. We’ve been married for seven years. We have a family. You’re tired from your trip, and I’m stressed out. Let’s just go back across the street, have a drink, and talk things through. Mom was just… she was just being strict because she’s old-fashioned. You know how she is.”
“I do know how she is,” I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous, icy register. “And I also know what she did to my mother. You both watched her suffer. You enjoyed it. And now, your time is up.”
“Clara, please!” Eleanor shoved her way past Mark into the camera’s field of view, her face twisted into a mask of ugly malice, abandoning all pretense of sweetness. “You ungrateful little tramp! You think some fancy house makes you better than us? You’re nothing without my son! Without Mark, you’re just a lonely, bitter workaholic who would die in a sterile office! You’ll be begging us to take you back by tomorrow morning when you realize you can’t survive without a real man in the house!”
I didn’t bother arguing with her. I simply pressed a button on the smart-home control panel.
The perimeter sprinkler system encircling our old house across the street suddenly roared to life. High-pressure jets of water blasted from the lawn, directly soaking Eleanor and Mark as they stood on the porch. Eleanor let out a blood-curdling shriek as a wall of ice-cold water drenched her expensive nightgown, while Mark cursed loudly, slipping backward on the wet steps and landing squarely in a muddy flowerbed.
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“Enjoy the shower,” I said into the intercom. “By midnight, the sheriff will arrive to serve you both with eviction notices and restraining orders. Pack light.”
I turned away from the monitor, leaving them soaked, shivering, and utterly defeated in the dark.
