Chapter 4 - The Eviction
Constance let out a sharp, mocking laugh that sounded like dry leaves scraping across concrete.
"An eviction? Is this some kind of sick joke?" She stepped into the doorway, attempting to block the threshold. "Do you have any idea who I am? This is the Pierce family estate. My late husband bought this home thirty years ago!"
Deputy Miller didn't flinch. He was a veteran officer who had seen every high-society lie Chicago had to offer.
"Ma'am, this property is owned by Aegis Real Estate Trust," Miller stated, reading directly from the legal document. "Your family lost title to this house eight years ago during foreclosure proceedings. You have been residing here under a conditional license granted by the trust's sole owner. That license was formally revoked as of 6:00 AM this morning due to severe breach of contract and criminal endangerment charges."
Dalton’s face drained of color. He pushed past his mother, his hands shaking. "Wait... Aegis Trust? No, that’s impossible. We pay rent to an asset manager named Harrison! Who owns Aegis?"
"The principal owner and sole beneficiary of Aegis Trust," a cool, composed voice called out from the bottom of the porch steps, "is me."
Dalton and Constance froze.
I stepped out of the back of a black Town Car, flanked by Marcus Vance and two private security guards. I was wearing an ivory wool trench coat, knee-high leather boots, and dark sunglasses. I looked healthy, powerful, and utterly unreachable.
Constance gasped, her jaw dropping so hard her fake pearls bounced against her collarbone. "You?! You poor, pathetic little rat! What kind of sick game are you playing? Dalton, call the police! She forged these papers!"
"The police are already here, Mrs. Pierce," Marcus Vance stepped forward, handing a copy of the court order to Dalton. "And if you attempt to touch or threaten my client again, the deputies behind me will place you under arrest for felony assault and violation of a protective order."
"Brier..." Dalton stammered, his eyes wide with absolute terror as the reality began to sink in. "Brier, what is this? What are you talking about? You own the house?"
"I bought it eight years ago, Dalton," I said, my voice cutting through the freezing air like a razor. "Before I ever met you. I paid off your father’s $3.8 million mortgage debt through my holding company. I let you live here because I thought I was building a life with a man who loved me. I was willing to share everything I had with you."
I took a slow step up the porch stairs, staring directly into Dalton’s hollow eyes.
"But last night, you let your mother throw me and your ten-day-old infants into a blizzard. You locked the door behind us. So now, the grace period is over."
"Brier, please!" Dalton took a step toward me, reaching out his hand, but one of my security guards immediately stepped between us, blocking him. "It was a mistake! Mom was crazy last night, I didn't know what to do—"
"You made your choice, Dalton," I said smoothly. "Now you have twenty-eight minutes left to clear your clothes out of my house."
"This is insane!" Constance shrieked, her voice turning screechy as panic set in. "Where are we supposed to go?! All our furniture is in there! My art collection!"
"None of the furniture belongs to you, Constance," I said, offering her a cold, polite smile. "Every single piece of art, every rug, and every fixture in this house was designed and purchased by Ashford Holdings. The only things that belong to you are the clothes in your closet and your personal toilet items. Locksmith, please proceed."
The locksmith immediately stepped forward with a power drill, placing the bit against the deadbolt of the heavy oak front door. The loud, mechanical grinding echoed through the quiet street.
Neighbours began opening their doors. Across the street, Mrs. Higgins, the neighborhood gossip queen, stepped onto her balcony wrapped in mink, holding her phone up to record the entire scene.
"Brier, stop this!" Dalton begged, tears finally welling in his eyes as he realized his social status was collapsing in real-time in front of Chicago's elite. "We can talk about this! What about Ezra and Elowen? Where are my babies?!"
"They are in a warm, secure location," I replied icy cold. "Safe from the man who stood by and watched them freeze. My lawyers will handle all further communication regarding custody. You will receive a summons for divorce court by the end of the day."
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Deputy Miller checked his watch. "Twenty-five minutes, Mr. Pierce. I suggest you start packing your bags, or my officers will clear your personal belongings onto the curb."
Constance began to wail—a loud, pathetic sound of defeated pride—as two deputies escorted her inside her former kingdom to supervise her as she threw her designer dresses into garbage bags.
