Chapter 4 - The Eviction of the Trespassers
By 6:00 p.m., the storm had returned to Charleston, casting Harbor Point into a deep, gloomy shadow.
Vanessa stood in the master bedroom, frantically throwing Evelyn's expensive designer shoes and jewelry into a large leather suitcase. "We have to go, Grant! We have to get to the Miami penthouse before they freeze those accounts too! We can transfer the offshore funds!"
"There are no offshore funds, Vanessa," Grant said, standing in the doorway. He looked completely defeated, his tie gone, his charcoal jacket stained with sweat. "Arthur Vance froze the Cayman accounts three hours ago. We have nothing."
"What do you mean, nothing?!" Vanessa screamed, dropping a gold necklace onto the floor. "I didn't spend five years pretending to love you just to end up broke!"
"Pretending?" Grant’s eyes widened, a sudden, dark rage rising in his chest. "You told me you loved me! You told me we were partners!"
"You were a means to an end, Grant!" Vanessa spat, her beautiful face contorted in pure, venomous malice. "I wanted this house! I wanted the Hale name! And now you've ruined it because you couldn't even kill your own brother properly!"
"She won't be needing the house, Miss Cole," a cold, powerful voice echoed from the hallway.
The bedroom doors were pushed open.
Mara walked in, flanked by two armed federal marshals and Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper. Mrs. Gable was carrying a large, black plastic garbage bag.
"Get out of my sister's room," Mara said, her voice dropping like an iron curtain.
"This is my house!" Vanessa shrieked, clutching a diamond watch to her chest. "Grant is the executor of the estate!"
"The executor position was terminated twenty minutes ago by the probate court," Mara replied, stepping forward. "You are currently trespassing on private property owned by the Sterling-Hale Trust. Marshals, please escort them off the premises."
The marshals stepped forward, their hands resting on their holstered weapons.
"And Vanessa?" Mara added, pointing to the black garbage bag in Mrs. Gable's hand. "Leave the cashmere coat. You aren't fit to wear her clothes."
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With a sob of pure, humiliating defeat, Vanessa threw the coat onto the floor, grabbed her cheap suitcases, and was marched down the grand staircase of Harbor Point under the watchful eyes of the staff she had spent the last forty-eight hours abusing.
Grant didn't move. He stood on the driveway in the pouring rain, watching the security gates of his brother's empire close on him for the very last time.
