Chapter 4 - The Eviction of the Parasites
"This isn't happening," Jessica muttered, rocking back and forth on the Persian rug, her designer dress stained with wine. "This is a nightmare. You planned this! Both of you!" she shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at me and Marcus. "You set a trap for us!"
"A trap, Jessica?" I asked quietly, standing up from my chair and buttoning my suit jacket. I looked down at her with a calm, steady gaze. "When you spent the last six months treating me like an unwanted guest in my own home, locking my study, throwing away my late wife's photographs, and finally boasting that you had shut off my credit cards... was that a trap? Or was that simply your true character finally coming to light?"
Jessica’s mother, trembling with rage and fear, stepped forward. "You can't just throw us out on Christmas! It's the holidays! We have rights!"
Marcus Vance smiled thinly. "You have twenty-four hours to vacate the premises, Mrs. Miller. And that is an act of holiday mercy from Mr. Sterling. Any refusal to comply will result in immediate trespass warrants being served by the county sheriff's department currently waiting at the front gates."
As if on cue, the heavy oak front door swung open wider, revealing two uniformed county sheriff deputies standing watch in the foyer, their breath pluming in the cold winter air.
The reality of the situation finally penetrated the shocked silence of Jessica's family. Her brother-in-law, who had been smugly cheering just minutes ago, grabbed his winter coat from the coat rack, whispering frantically to his wife that they needed to leave now. Within three minutes, Jessica's relatives were scrambling toward the front door like rats fleeing a sinking ship, muttering curses and casting terrified glances back at the dining room.
Jessica remained on the floor, weeping hysterically, her grand empire of arrogance reduced to ash in less than ten minutes.
I looked down at my son, who was still slumped in his chair, completely paralyzed by shame.
"Mark," I said softly. "Pack your bags. You’re leaving too."
May you like
Mark looked up, his voice breaking. "Dad... please. I was weak. Jessica pushed me, she threatened to take the kids—"
"You made your bed, Mark," I interrupted, my voice devoid of anger, carrying only a heavy, sorrowful finality. "Now lie in it. Tomorrow morning, the locks on this house will be changed. I suggest you find somewhere else to sleep."
