Chapter 6 - The New TenantThe sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, bruised shadows across the manicured lawns of the estate.
A sleek black Mercedes sedan pulled up the driveway, bypassing the tow trucks and security vans. The rear door opened, and a tall, elegant woman stepped out. It was Beatrice Vane—my mother, and the formidable matriarch of the Vane banking dynasty, who had lived abroad in Geneva for the last decade while watching my marriage deteriorate from afar.
Margaret groaned, slowly regaining consciousness on the cold stone, and blinked heavily. As her blurry vision focused on Beatrice walking toward her, her face twisted in absolute horror.
"Beatrice..." Margaret whimpered, pushing herself up on her elbows. "Beatrice, you have to talk to your daughter! She’s insane! She’s destroying us!"
My mother didn't even look down at Margaret. She walked past her as if she were a discarded piece of trash on the sidewalk, stopping right in front of me. Beatrice’s eyes shone with fierce pride as she reached out and cupped my cheek.
"You did well, my darling," Beatrice said softly, a warm smile touching her lips. "Your grandfather would have been proud. You handled these parasites with the exact precision they deserved."
"Thank you, Mother," I replied, leaning into her touch for a brief moment before turning back to face the wreckage of my former life.
Daniel Mercer walked over, holding a golden fountain pen and a leather-bound folder. "Mrs. Sterling, the preliminary asset transfer is complete. All locks have been changed. The residential deed has been officially re-registered under your maiden name, Vane Holdings LLC. As for your ex-husband and his family..." Daniel glanced dismissively at Ethan, Margaret, and Vanessa. "They have exactly forty-two minutes to vacate the premises before the local sheriff's department enforces the trespassing order."
Ethan’s head snapped up. "Vacate? Where are we supposed to go? All our accounts are frozen!"
"There’s a lovely three-star motel off Interstate 95," I suggested casually, turning toward the grand front doors of the mansion. "I hear they have weekly rates. It should be a wonderful adjustment for you—a taste of what real life feels like without my grandfather’s money funding your arrogance."
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"Elena! You can't do this to me! I am your husband!" Ethan shouted desperately, lunging forward, but two security guards instantly stepped between us, blocking his path with absolute authority.
"Not anymore, Ethan," I said, not even turning around as I walked up the marble steps. "Tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, the judge signs the final decree. Until then... enjoy the peace and quiet."
