Chapter 2 - The Shark in the Foyer"Mr. Vance?" Ethan stammered, his polished composure shattering into a million jagged pieces. He took an instinctive half-step backward, his gaze darting from the high-powered attorney to the two county deputies standing stoically on the welcome mat. "What... what are you doing here? This is a private residence. If you're here about the corporate restructuring—"
"This has nothing to do with corporate restructuring, Ethan," Marcus interrupted smoothly, stepping past me into the house without waiting for an invitation. The deputies followed closely behind, flanking the entryway like sentinels.
Beverly pushed her way past them, her face flushed with indignant rage. "What is the meaning of this?!" she screeched, pointing a manicured finger directly at me. "Ethan, why are there police officers in your home? And why is this woman standing there looking like she's hosting a execution? Make them leave right now!"
"Shut up, Mother," Ethan hissed, his voice cracking slightly as he stared at Marcus, who had now set his heavy briefcase down on the mahogany console table.
"Mr. Sterling," Marcus said, opening the brass latches of the briefcase with a crisp, echoing click. "My firm represents your wife, Mrs. Emily Sterling. We are here to execute a series of legal actions, asset freezes, and immediate compliance orders."
Ethan let out a sharp, hysterical laugh. He looked at me, desperate to find the familiar, cowering woman he had bullied just twelve hours ago. "Emily? Legal actions? Are you out of your mind? She doesn't even have a lawyer! She works a basic, entry-level accounting job making pocket change! She can't afford a cup of coffee from my favorite café, let alone Vance & Associates!"
Marcus slowly raised his gaze from the documents inside his case, fixing Ethan with a pitying, razor-sharp look. "Mr. Sterling. You really should have paid closer attention to the woman you married. Or, at the very least, you should have checked who actually signed the mortgage, the corporate venture capital backing, and the intellectual property rights transfer forms for Sterling Logistics three years ago."
Ethan blinked, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. "What are you talking about? I built Sterling Logistics from the ground up. My name is on the door."
"Your name is on the marketing material, yes," Marcus replied calmly, pulling out a thick stack of heavy cardstock pages and sliding them across the console table. "But as of 8:00 AM this morning, file number 2026-CV-8890 has been officially registered with the Superior Court. Let me spell it out for you simply, Ethan: You are broke. Your company is being seized under federal investigation for corporate embezzlement, tax fraud, and asset concealment. And this house?"
Marcus paused, turning a page to reveal a pristine, stamped deed.
"Belongs entirely to your wife. Every square inch of it. Including the land it sits on."
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Beverly let out a sound like a deflating tire, her knees buckling as she grabbed onto the nearest chair for support. "That's... that's impossible," she whispered, her eyes wide with terror. "Ethan... tell me that's a lie. Tell me she didn't—"
Ethan didn't answer. He was staring at me, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with a mixture of raw fury and absolute, paralyzing disbelief.
