Chapter 4 - THE MOTHER'S VENOM9
While Ethan was being stripped of his career at Vanguard headquarters, the situation at the Bellweather estate was devolving into an entirely different kind of battlefield.
Patricia Montgomery sat at the grand marble kitchen island, her hands clutching a lukewarm porcelain cup of Earl Grey tea. She was still wearing the same silk robe from the night before, but it was now crumpled and stained. Her hair, usually styled into immaculate golden waves, hung in lifeless strands around her face.
The silence of the massive house was deafening.
For five years, Patricia had ruled this house like a queen. She had ordered the housekeepers around, complained about the chef’s choice of organic ingredients, and belittled Claire at every opportunity. She had convinced herself that her son’s high salary and impressive title were the sole engines keeping this luxurious life afloat.
Now, she knew the truth: she was a squatter living on the charity of the woman she had tortured.
The sharp sound of heavy boots echoing across the front porch made Patricia jump. The front door clicked open, and three tall men dressed in dark blue work uniforms marched into the foyer, carrying heavy metal toolboxes and electronic diagnostic equipment.
Leading them was Lena Brooks, holding a clipboard and flanked by a private security officer holding a German Shepherd on a short leather leash.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Patricia shrieked, jumping up from her stool, her tea spilling across the white marble. “Who gave you permission to enter my home?!”
Lena didn’t even look up from her paperwork. “Good morning, Patricia. As per the legal notice served last night, ownership of this residence belongs exclusively to Bellweather Holdings. We are conducting a preliminary security audit and re-keying all external locks.”
“You can’t do this! My son’s lawyers will have you thrown in prison!” Patricia screamed, her voice cracking into a high-pitched screech.
“Your son was fired from Vanguard two hours ago, Patricia,” Lena said smoothly, looking up with a cool, dangerous smile. “And his personal accounts are frozen. I doubt Mr. Vance will be doing much pro bono work for him once he realizes the retainer check will bounce.”
Patricia froze, her breath catching in her throat. “Fired…? No… no, that’s impossible! Ethan is indispensable! He runs that company!”
“He ran it straight into an FBI investigation,” Lena corrected. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, the locksmiths need to secure the master suite and the primary legal office.”
“I have rights!” Patricia yelled, stepping in front of the locksmith who was walking toward the grand staircase. “I am an elderly woman! I have lived here for five years! You cannot restrict my movement in my own home!”
The private security guard stepped forward, the massive German Shepherd letting out a low, guttural growl that vibrated through the floorboards. Patricia instantly took three steps back, her face turning pale as paper.
“Under North Carolina tenant law,” Lena explained as if speaking to an unruly child, “as a holdover occupant under a thirty-day notice, you are entitled to access your designated bedroom and the adjacent hallway bathroom. You do not have access to the wine cellar, the master wing, the home office, or the garage. If you enter those restricted areas, the electronic motion sensors will trip, and security will remove you for criminal trespass.”
“You are monsters! Both of you! Claire is a cold-blooded, heartless snake!” Patricia sobbed, dropping into a leather sofa in the living room, burying her face in her hands. “After everything my family did for her! My husband loved her like a daughter!”
“Your husband,” Lena said, her tone suddenly dropping into ice, “was saved from bankruptcy by Claire’s trust. He died with dignity in a hospital bed paid for by Claire’s mother. And in return, you and your son treated her like a maid.”
Lena motioned to two workers who had just entered through the back door carrying large wooden crates.
“What are they doing now?” Patricia demanded, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her silk robe.
“They are packing up all art, antiques, and high-value heirlooms that were purchased using trust funds prior to your son’s marriage,” Lena replied. “We are clearing the house of all client-owned assets before the formal eviction date.”
Within minutes, the living room was transformed into an active work site. Paintings were unhooked from the walls, silver dining sets were wrapped in bubble wrap, and expensive crystal sculptures were carefully packed away into wooden crates.
Patricia watched in horrified silence as the luxury she had weaponized for half a decade was peeled away layer by layer, exposing the empty, cold shell of the house beneath.
Suddenly, Patricia’s phone buzzed violently on the table. She snatched it up, seeing Ethan’s name on the screen.
“Ethan!” she cried out, her voice trembling with hysteria. “Ethan, you have to come back! They’re taking everything! They’re changing the locks! They brought dogs into the house!”
“Mother… shut up,” Ethan’s voice came through the speaker, hoarse, exhausted, and slurred. He sounded as if he were standing on a noisy, rain-slicked street corner.
“Ethan? Where are you? What happened at work?”
“It’s over, Mother,” Ethan whispered, a break in his voice that Patricia had never heard before in his entire life. “It’s all gone. They froze the credit cards. I couldn't even pay for a taxi. My lawyer told me not to come back to the house because of the restraining order.”
“What are we going to do?!” Patricia wept, tears ruining her heavy mascara, running in black streaks down her wrinkled cheeks. “Where are we going to live?!”
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“I don’t know…” Ethan said, his voice fading into the background sound of passing traffic. “I don’t know…”
From the top of the stairs, Lena looked down at Patricia, her phone recording every second of the woman’s breakdown. The wheel of justice was turning, and it was crushing everything in its path.
