CHAPTER 3: The Ghost of Suburban Splendor
Fourteen days after he had walked out of his home, Derek Miller stood on the pavement of his quiet, tree-lined suburban street.
He looked like a ghost of the man who had left. His expensive clothes were wrinkled, his hair was messy, and his eyes were bloodshot from a frantic, sleepless twenty-four-hour journey back from Mexico. He had been forced to use the last bit of Madison’s personal credit card limit just to buy a one-way economy ticket home.
Madison had left him at the airport in Houston, screaming at him that he was a loser and a fraud before blocking his number.
He walked up the driveway of his house.
Except, it wasn't his house anymore.
The manicured lawn was empty. The beautiful custom curtains he had insisted on were gone, replaced by standard white paper blinds. In the front yard, a sleek, modern sign read: SOLD. SOLD BY VIP ASSET MANAGEMENT.
Derek lunged toward the front door, grabbing the handle and twisting it violently. It didn't budge. He pounded his fist against the solid oak.
"Sienna!" he roared, his voice cracking with desperation. "Sienna! Open this door! You can't do this! This is my house!"
A neighbor across the street, an elderly woman named Mrs. Higgins who used to smile at him, stopped watering her flowers and stared at him with open disgust.
"She’s not there, Derek," Mrs. Higgins called out, her voice dripping with disdain. "The movers took everything a week ago. Sienna left in a private car. She looked beautiful, by the way. Much better off without you."
"Where did she go?!" Derek yelled, running down the driveway toward the old woman. "Where is my son?!"
Mrs. Higgins stepped back, holding her garden hose like a weapon. "If I knew, I wouldn't tell you. We all saw how you left her three weeks after a C-section. You’re a pathetic excuse for a man, Derek. Get off my street before I call the police."
The Family Fallout
Left with no options, no money, and no home, Derek walked two miles to his mother’s apartment.
When Brenda opened the door, she didn't embrace him. She looked at him with a mixture of anger and panic. The apartment living room behind her was cluttered with random items—the espresso machine, some of Derek’s golf clubs, and boxes of his designer shoes.
"Mom," Derek groaned, collapsing onto her sofa. "She ruined me. She took everything. She found out about the company accounts."
"Of course she did, you idiot!" Brenda shouted, slamming the door shut. "You married a woman who catches corporate thieves for a living, and you thought you could hide a mistress and a bank fraud scheme from her?! Do you know what she did to us?"
Megan walked out of the kitchen, holding a glass of wine, her face pale. "Derek, the police came here yesterday. They asked about the Vance Consulting group. They think Mom and I were involved because Madison used our address for some registry paperwork!"
"I didn't know!" Derek cried, burying his head in his hands. "I didn't think she would look!"
"She didn't just look, Derek. She stripped you bare," Megan said coldly. "She served Mom and me with a cease-and-desist order for harassment because we took that espresso machine. We had to give it back to her lawyers yesterday. She’s ruthless."
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"Where is she?" Derek whispered, looking up, his eyes hollow. "Where is the divorce paperwork?"
"There is no divorce paperwork yet," Brenda said, throwing a thick legal envelope onto his lap. "Because she didn't file a standard divorce. She filed a civil asset forfeiture petition alongside a criminal complaint. She isn't trying to divorce you, Derek. She’s trying to put you in prison."
