Chapter 4 - The Eviction Notice
When I pulled up the long gravel driveway of the estate an hour later, the parking lot outside the pavilion was completely empty. The pink balloons had been untied and tossed into a large black trash bag by one of the remaining caterers, who gave me a sympathetic, apologetic look as I walked past.
Inside the main house, the atmosphere was thick with suffocating tension.
Linda was sitting in the living room, holding a glass of white wine as if nothing had happened, while Daniel paced frantically across the Persian rug. When the front door opened, both of them spun around.
“Oh, finally!” Linda scoffed, standing up and smoothing her designer blouse. “Look who decided to grace us with her presence. Emma, do you have any idea how much humiliation you’ve caused my son today? Walking out like a petulant child because a little joke got out of hand—!”
“A joke?” I interrupted, my voice ringing clear and hard through the high-ceilinged room.
Linda blinked, momentarily thrown off by my lack of tears or trembling submission. “Well, obviously. Boys, girls—it doesn't matter in the grand scheme, though a Carter man is certainly preferable. But you throwing a tantrum and disappearing—!”
“Shut up, Linda,” I said.
The silence that followed was absolute. Linda’s mouth dropped open in profound shock.
“What did you just call me?” she gasped, her face flushing a mottled red. “Daniel! Did you hear how your wife is speaking to me? In my son’s house?”
I walked slowly into the center of the room, unbuttoning my light jacket and tossing my car keys onto the entry table. I looked at Daniel, who looked like a ghost—pale, sweating, and miserably trapped between two worlds.
“Tell her, Daniel,” I whispered. “Tell your mother whose house this actually is.”
Daniel swallowed hard, refusing to meet my eyes. “Emma, let’s not get crazy. Mom was just stressed about the gender reveal. She wanted a grandson. It’s a family tradition—”
“It’s my grandmother’s house, Daniel!” I snapped, my voice finally breaking through the artificial calm, carrying all the rage of the last four years. “My grandmother, Eleanor Vance, bought these twelve acres in 1974. She left it to me in her will, three years before you and I ever met! You never contributed a single dime to the purchase of this estate, and your mother has lived in a delusional fantasy where she thinks her son is a lord of a manor he doesn't own!”
Linda let out a sharp, hysterical laugh. “Lies! Absolute lies! Daniel told me he bought this estate for you when your tech startup took off! He said he built this life for you!”
I turned my gaze slowly to Linda, a cruel, satisfied smile touching my lips. “Then your son lied to you to stroke his own fragile ego. Or perhaps you just heard what you wanted to hear so you could feel superior.”
“Daniel!” Linda shrieked, grabbing his arm. “Tell me she’s lying! Tell me this isn't true!”
Daniel looked down at his shoes, his shoulders slumping in total defeat. “Mom... she’s... the deed is in Emma’s name. The trust holds the property.”
If looks could kill, Linda’s glare would have vaporized Daniel on the spot. Her face twisted into an ugly mask of pure venom. She turned back to me, pointing a shaking, manicured finger right between my eyes.
“You treacherous little bitch,” she hissed. “You trapped my son! You tricked him into marrying a gold-digger!”
Before I could answer, the heavy oak front door swung open without a knock.
Two men in crisp suits stepped into the foyer. One of them held a thick manila folder, while the other carried a digital tablet.
“Mrs. Emma Carter?” the lead man asked politely, flashing a badge.
“I am,” I replied.
He stepped forward and handed the folder directly into Linda’s stunned hands.
“Formal Notice of Trespass and Eviction,” the process server announced clearly. “By order of the property owner, Emma Vance-Carter, Linda Grayson must vacate these premises within two hours. Furthermore, a restraining order has been filed prohibiting Linda Grayson from coming within five hundred feet of this property or Mrs. Carter.”
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Linda stared at the paper as if it were a venomous snake. “You can’t do this! I live in the guest cottage! I have my things here!”
“You have two hours, Linda,” I said, walking toward the grand staircase that led to our master bedroom. “And Daniel? You might want to start packing too. Because until you sign the divorce papers my lawyer is sending over tomorrow, you’re just an unauthorized guest as well.”
