Chapter 4 - The Outcasts in the Cold
“Brooke Miller?” one of the police officers called out, stepping forward and looking at the shivering woman in her underwear.
“Yes?” she whimpered, trying to cover herself with her arms.
“You are under arrest for grand larceny, corporate embezzlement, and the unauthorized transfer of proprietary data from Sterling Enterprises’ subsidiaries. You have the right to remain silent...”
As the officer began reading her rights, Eliana rushed forward, her hands raised in defense. “This is outrageous! You can’t do this in our home! We are the Vances! We have a reputation!”
“Not anymore, Eliana,” I said, stepping toward her. “And as for this being your home? Clara, please show them the eviction notice.”
Clara stepped forward, presenting a legally stamped document to Arthur and Jameson. “As of 9:15 a.m. today, the foreclosure was finalized. You have exactly ten minutes to gather your personal belongings—excluding any items purchased with marital funds, which are currently frozen pending the divorce proceedings—and vacate the premises. If you are not gone by 9:30 a.m., you will be arrested for criminal trespassing.”
“Ten minutes?!” Eliana shrieked. “My collectibles! My antiques! We’ve spent the morning packing her things!”
“And now you can unpack them,” I smiled. “Because everything in those U-Haul boxes belongs to me. Except, of course, your personal clothing. You can take those in trash bags. It seems fitting, doesn’t it?”
Jameson fell to his knees on the cold hardwood floor, surrounded by the glass shards of my broken mug. “Ruby... please. We can talk about this. I was confused. Brooke seduced me, she told me we could expand the business if we got rid of you... I didn’t mean any of it! I love you!”
I looked down at him, feeling absolutely nothing. No anger, no sadness, only a profound sense of closure.
“You didn’t love me, Jameson. You loved my quietness. You loved the idea that you could control me. But you forgot one very important thing,” I whispered, leaning down so only he could hear me. “I let you play the king because I enjoyed watching you build your own gallows.”
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The police escorted a weeping, handcuffed Brooke out the front door, her bare feet dragging on the gravel driveway. Jameson’s parents, realization finally dawning on them that they were completely ruined, began frantically throwing their clothes into the very trash bags they had brought for me.
At 9:30 a.m. sharp, Jameson, Arthur, and Eliana were escorted out of my house. They stood on the curb of the wealthy suburban street, holding black trash bags, as the neighbors stepped out onto their lawns to watch the spectacular fall of the arrogant Vance family.
