Chapter 2 - THE PAPERWORK PARADOXGertrude’s brow furrowed in confusion. Hands shaking, she pulled out her rose-gold iPhone and tapped the screen. Prudence leaned over her mother's shoulder, her face still covered in chicken grease.

A notification from the Bayside County Land Registry blinked bright red on her screen.

LEGAL NOTICE: Transfer of Title Deed for Property #884 Bayside Heights Estate HAS BEEN COMPLETED. Sole Owner: Ethan Vance.

"No... no, this is a mistake!" Gertrude shrieked, clutching the phone so hard her knuckles turned white. "I signed the paperwork five years ago as the primary trustee!"

"You signed as a temporary POA (Power of Attorney) while I was deployed under contract," I said, standing tall, towering over both of them. "Did you really think I was just a dumb laborer pouring concrete in the heat? I spent my nights reading corporate law. Three months ago, my lawyer in Chicago finalized the master ownership clause. The moment I touched down on American soil, every asset, every account, and every square foot of this land defaulted back to ME."

Prudence looked like she was about to faint. "Ethan... we're your family! Your blood!"

"My blood is sitting on a plastic stool eating sour rice," I snarled, pointing a finger at Sarah and Jamie. "You two are parasites."

Before Gertrude could utter another word, the grand oak double doors leading from the mansion's main hallway clicked open. Out stepped Marcus Vance—my younger, lazy brother—wearing an Italian suit bought with my money, holding a crystal glass of scotch.

"Hey! What's with all the shouting out here?" Marcus yelled, clearly tipsy. "Mom, the guests are asking where the catering is—"

Marcus froze mid-sentence as his eyes locked onto me. The scotch glass slipped from his fingers, smashing into a hundred pieces on the concrete.

"Ethan... bro... you're back early..." Marcus stammered, swallowing hard.

"Bro?" I walked right up to Marcus, grabbed him by his silk tie, and dragged him toward the back door. "Come take a look, Marcus. Come look at where my wife and son slept while you played high-society playboy."

I shoved him down toward the filthy plastic bucket and the dirty pillow. Marcus stumbled, falling onto his hands and knees right next to the sour rice.

"Look at it!" I roared, the rage vibrating in the back of my throat. "You drank my sweat! You ate my meat! And you let my child starve!"

"I didn't know!" Marcus cried out, trying to scramble backward in fear. "Mom and Prudence handled the house! They told me Sarah wanted to live in the guesthouse!"

"This isn't a guesthouse, Marcus! This is a slaughterhouse for human dignity!" I turned back to Gertrude, whose face was now twisted in desperation. "Get everyone out of my house. NOW."

Gertrude swallowed her pride, her voice shaking violently. "Ethan, please... if we kick out the Mayor and the bank executives right now, our reputation in Bayside will be ruined! Prudence’s engagement to Mayor Sterling’s son will be canceled! Just let us finish the party, and we will move Sarah inside tomorrow—"

"You have five minutes," I interrupted coldly, pulling out my phone. "Five minutes before I call the local news channels and tell them that Mayor Sterling is currently drinking champagne in a mansion built on human trafficking and domestic abuse."

"You monster!" Prudence shrieked.

"Look in the mirror, Prudence," I spat back. "The clock is ticking."

Gertrude grabbed Prudence and Marcus, her silk dress rustling as they panicked and ran back into the mansion to disperse the guests.

I turned back to Sarah. I knelt down, took off my heavy leather jacket, and wrapped it gently around her shivering shoulders. Then I scooped Jamie up into my arms. He felt so impossibly light—like a feather. A six-year-old boy shouldn't be this light.

"Ethan..." Sarah sobbed, burying her face into my neck. "I thought you forgot about us... They told me you had a new family in Saudi Arabia... They showed me fake emails..."

My blood ran cold. Fake emails?

"They forged messages from you," Sarah whimpered. "They said if I tried to leave, they would use their connections with the county police to take Jamie away from me and put him in foster care..."

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Arthur Sterling tapped his leather-wrapped fingers against the steering...

The sound hung in the air, rhythmic and deliberate—tap, tap, tap—reverbe...

The wind on the balcony was sharp, carrying the bitter, fish-heavy tang...

I closed my eyes, feeling a dark, icy fury settle deep into my bone marrow. Starving them wasn't enough for my family. They had psychologically tortured my wife, gaslit her, and isolated her from the world.

"Nobody is taking him," I whispered into her ear. "And nobody is ever hurting you again. Tonight, the nightmare ends. Tomorrow, the retribution begins."