Chapter 5 - The Eviction of the Parasites
The heavy oak doors clicked shut, sealing out the flashing red and blue lights of the police cruiser as it sped down the circular driveway, carrying Ethan Vance toward a very cold, very public holding cell at the county jail.
In the sudden, heavy silence of the grand foyer, Beverly stood frozen near the grand staircase. Her silk robe suddenly looked cheap, her posture collapsed from haughty arrogance into a pathetic, trembling heap of aged desperation. She slowly turned her head, looking at Julian Sterling, then at the senior litigation partner, and finally at me.
“You... you can't throw me out,” Beverly stammered, her voice cracking with frantic self-preservation. “I am an elderly woman! I have medical conditions! This... this house is my home! Ethan promised me I would live here in luxury for the rest of my life!”
I walked slowly toward the marble staircase, resting my hand on the polished wooden banister, looking down at the woman who had sat sipping tea while her son beat me into the kitchen floor.
“You praised him every time he raised his hand against me, Beverly,” I said, my voice steady and cold. “You told him a wife had to be disciplined early. You treated this house like your personal kingdom while mocking the very woman who paid the mortgage, funded his firm, and kept your lavish lifestyle afloat.”
“Emily, darling—please,” Beverly whimpered, taking a clumsy, stumbling step toward the stairs, her hands outstretched in a pathetic plea for grace. “We’re family! We can work this out! We can send Ethan to anger management! We can—we can live together peacefully! Just don't throw me out on the street!”
“Family doesn't watch each other bleed,” I replied quietly. I turned to the senior litigation attorney standing by the door. “Mr. Davis, please ensure that Mrs. Vance’s personal belongings—and I use that term very loosely, considering everything in this house was purchased with Sterling capital—are packed into cardboard boxes and placed on the front curb within the hour. And have the estate locks changed immediately.”
“Right away, Ms. Sterling,” Davis replied crisply.
“You can't do this!” Beverly shrieked, her mask of aristocratic dignity finally shattering completely into hysterical fury. She pointed a trembling finger at me, her face turning purple with rage. “You ungrateful, vindictive little bitch! You’ll never survive in this world without a real man to control you! You’ll rot alone in this mausoleum! Ethan will get out on bail, he’ll destroy you, he’ll—!”
“Mr. Davis, escort her out,” I commanded, turning my back on her shrill screams.
I walked up the grand staircase, leaving the weeping, cursing former matriarch of a nonexistent empire behind in the dust. Every step I took felt lighter, as if the physical and psychological weight of the last three years was finally peeling away from my skin.
When I reached the master bedroom, I walked straight to the walk-in closet. Ethan’s expensive suits, designer shoes, and custom silk ties hung in neat, arrogant rows across half the space. I pulled my phone from my pocket and made a quick call to the estate manager.
“Get a crew up to the master suite,” I instructed evenly. “Clear out the entire left side of the closet. Throw everything in industrial garbage bags and take it to the municipal dumpster. I don't want a single trace of him left in this house.”
“Yes, Ms. Sterling. Right away.”
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I hung up, walked over to the vanity mirror, and stared at my reflection. The bruise on my cheek was still purple and swollen, a vivid reminder of the violence I had endured. But when I looked into my eyes, I didn't see the cowering, terrified wife who had whispered in the dark kitchen just twenty-four hours ago.
I saw a Sterling.
