Chapter 5 - The Master of the Penthouse
By 8:00 PM, the rain had begun to fall over Los Angeles—a steady, driving downpour that washed the smog from the air and plastered the palm trees against the dark evening sky.
Inside the penthouse, the atmosphere was a study in absolute, serene peace.
The broken food basket from Linden, New Mexico, had long since been cleared away. The foyer floor gleamed under the soft recessed lighting, polished to a mirror finish. In the gourmet kitchen, Marisol stood beside the marble island, wearing a comfortable linen apron, rolling out fresh dough for evening empanadas while humming a quiet, comforting tune from her childhood.
I sat at my desk in the home office, sipping a cup of hot chamomile tea, watching the city lights shimmer through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
My phone buzzed on the mahogany surface.
It was a notification from our private security console: Front foyer motion detected. Live feed available.
I tapped the screen.
The camera showed Grant and Virginia standing outside the double doors of the penthouse.
They looked pathetic.
Grant’s suit was wrinkled from the drive, his hair disheveled, his face pale and damp with rain. Beside him, Virginia looked like a ghost of her former self, her designer blouse rumpled, her expression twisted into a mixture of hysterical rage and absolute terror. They had obviously been kicked out of the Bel-Air estate earlier than expected, or perhaps the local authorities had refused to let them back inside after the asset seizure went public.
Grant raised his hand and pounded frantically against the heavy oak door.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Avery!” Grant screamed, his voice muffled through the heavy soundproofing. “Avery, open the door! I know you’re in there! This is insane! You can’t lock us out of our own home!”
I didn’t move. I didn't even blink. I simply watched the live feed on my monitor, observing them as if they were specimens in a laboratory experiment.
Inside the kitchen, Marisol paused her baking, her hands resting on the counter. She looked toward the hallway, a flicker of old anxiety crossing her face.
“Avery... should you answer?” Marisol called softly. “They’re making a scene in the hallway.”
“Let them make a scene, Mom,” I said, raising my voice just enough to carry into the kitchen. “The building security team has already been notified. By the time they finish pounding on that door, two officers will be escorting them off the premises for trespassing.”
Just as I finished speaking, the elevator doors at the end of the private foyer slid open with a soft chime.
Two armed building security guards stepped out into the hallway, flanked by Julian Vance, who had arrived ten minutes earlier with a bottle of vintage Napa Valley wine to celebrate.
Julian walked up behind Grant and Virginia, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his cashmere overcoat.
“Mr. Halden,” Julian said smoothly, his voice carrying clearly through the intercom speaker. “I’m afraid visiting hours for this residence have officially expired.”
Grant spun around, his face purple with rage. He lunged toward Julian, his fists clenched.
“You!” Grant roared. “You ruined everything! You and your ungrateful daughter engineered this entire thing from the beginning!”
Before Grant could take another step forward, the two security guards stepped between them, their hands resting firmly on the Tasers at their belts.
“One more step toward Mr. Vance, Mr. Halden, and you’ll be spending the night in a holding cell instead of a motel,” one of the guards said coldly.
Virginia clutched at her son’s arm, her voice shaking with desperate, pathetic fury.
“Julian! Listen to reason!” Virginia pleaded, staring up at my adoptive father with tear-filled eyes. “We are family! We are part of high society! You can’t throw us out into the street like common criminals! We belong here!”
Julian looked down at her with a gaze so chillingly indifferent that it made her shrink back.
“You never belonged here, Virginia,” Julian said quietly. “You were just renting space in a world built by people you thought were beneath you. And now, the lease is up.”
Julian turned his back on them, walked up to the double doors of the penthouse, tapped a code into the digital keypad, and stepped inside, letting the heavy doors lock securely behind him.
Through the security monitor, I watched as the security guards gently but firmly guided Grant and Virginia toward the private elevator, pressing the button down to the ground floor.
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They didn't look like aristocrats anymore.
They looked like what they had always been: small, frightened parasites who had finally run out of hosts.
