Chapter 4 - The Eviction
The thirty-day notice expired on a crisp Thursday morning in late October.
My recovery had been brutal, but miraculous. The orthopedic surgeon was astounded by my progress. I had graduated from the walker to a sleek, carbon-fiber cane. The pain was still a constant companion, but it was manageable. More importantly, I could hold my babies again. I could sit on the floor with them, build block towers, and tuck them into bed.
Daniel Cho had kept me updated on my parents' frantic scrambling. They had tried to hire a lawyer to fight the eviction, claiming they had "squatter's rights" or an implied verbal contract.
Every lawyer they consulted took one look at the ironclad holding company documents and refused to take the case. They had zero legal standing. The house was entirely in my name.
At 9:00 AM, Daniel sat across from me in the rehabilitation center's private lounge, sipping black coffee.
"The local sheriff's department is currently at the Maple Drive property," Daniel reported, his tablet glowing with updates. "Your parents were given until 8:00 AM to vacate voluntarily. They refused. The deputies are now enforcing the court-ordered eviction."
I stared into my tea. I thought I would feel guilty. I thought the image of my parents being escorted out of their home by law enforcement would break my heart. Instead, I felt a profound sense of closure.
"Did they take their belongings?" I asked.
"Most of it," Daniel nodded. "They hired movers last night. But they left the house in a terrible state. According to the property manager I sent over, they poured bleach on the hardwood floors in the master bedroom and smashed several of the custom light fixtures."
My jaw tightened. "Of course they did. Vandalism. Add the repair costs to the final tally. I want every cent documented."
"Already done," Daniel said, his fingers flying across the tablet. "They've relocated to a two-bedroom rental on the edge of town. Apparently, Seraphina had to co-sign the lease using her new income."
I raised an eyebrow. "Seraphina got a job?"
"She is currently a shift supervisor at a local coffee chain," Daniel said, unable to hide a small, satisfied smirk. "It seems her retail experience was finally put to use."
I shook my head, marveling at how quickly their opulent lifestyle had collapsed without my money propping it up. It was a house of cards, and I had simply pulled the bottom card away.
But my mother was not a woman who accepted defeat gracefully. If she couldn't win legally, she would try to win in the court of public opinion.
That afternoon, my phone buzzed with an alert from a local community Facebook group. A friend from my old neighborhood had tagged me in a post.
I clicked the link. It was a massive, multi-paragraph rant posted by my mother.
“Beware of the people you think you know,” the post began, accompanied by a picture of her looking tragic and disheveled on the steps of the courthouse. “My husband and I dedicated our lives to raising our daughter, Elena. When her husband passed away, we were her rock. But wealth changes people. After a minor car accident, she suffered a mental breakdown and maliciously evicted us from our family home of six years, leaving her elderly parents and younger sister practically homeless on the streets. Please pray for her to find her sanity and her heart.”
The comments section was already exploding. Some neighbors were expressing shock and offering prayers, while others were tagging local news stations to investigate the "evil millionaire daughter."
I showed the post to Daniel.
"Do you want me to issue a cease and desist for defamation?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.
May you like
"No," I said, a slow, calculated smile spreading across my face. "Let them dig their grave a little deeper. Because when the truth comes out, I want it to be spectacular."
---
