Chapter 6 - Eviction of the Mistress
The afternoon sun cast long, golden shadows across the expansive lawn of the Whitmore Hamptons estate. What had once been a tranquil sanctuary for my father had, over the past three months, been turned into a garish party house for Savannah and her entourage of social-climbing sycophants.
When my black Town Car pulled through the wrought-iron gates, the scene was one of utter pandemonium. Moving trucks were parked haphazardly along the driveway, and private security guards hired by Preston Doyle were actively barring entry to the front doors.
Savannah was standing on the grand limestone steps, surrounded by several Louis Vuitton suitcases and cardboard boxes. She was wearing oversized designer sunglasses, attempting to shield her tear-stained face from the curious glances of neighborhood onlookers and paparazzi lurking near the perimeter fence.
When she saw me step out of the car, dressed in pristine white linen and walking with quiet, regal confidence, she visibly shrank back.
""Rosalind..."" Savannah whimpered, her voice entirely stripped of the smug arrogance she had displayed behind the visitor glass. ""Please... you have to listen to me. I didn't know anything about Walter. I swear on my unborn child, I didn't know Grant and his mother were killers!""
I walked slowly up the steps, stopping three feet from her. I didn't look at her with anger. I looked at her with pure, unadulterated pity—the kind of pity reserved for a stray dog that had bitten the hand trying to feed it.
""You knew he was married, Savannah,"" I said softly, my tone cutting deeper than any scream. ""You knew you were sleeping in my bed, wearing my jewelry, and drinking my father’s vintage wine while I sat in a concrete holding cell awaiting a twenty-five-year prison sentence. You didn't care about murder, Savannah. You only cared about the credit limit on the black card.""
""Grant manipulated me!"" she cried, dropping to her knees on the stone steps, weeping hysterically. ""He told me you were abusive, that you treated him like an employee! He told me he was going to divorce you and give our baby everything! Now the feds took all the bank accounts, my apartment lease was canceled because Grant paid the deposit with stolen company funds, and I have nowhere to go! My own family won't even answer my calls!""
""Then you will learn what it feels like to build a life on your own merit,"" I replied coolly.
Preston stepped forward, holding a legal manifest. ""Miss Brooks, pursuant to the court order issued this morning, all items acquired by you or provided to you using funds originating from Whitmore Holdings or Grant Sterling's accounts are considered proceeds of crime. That includes the luxury vehicle in the garage, the jewelry in your bags, and the designer wardrobe purchased within the last six months.""
Two female security officers stepped forward and systematically opened Savannah’s suitcases right there on the terrace. They removed mink coats, diamond-encrusted watches, and expensive designer handbags, tossing them into secure inventory bins. Savannah watched helplessly, sobbing into her hands as her fabricated fantasy of elite wealth evaporated into thin air.
""What am I supposed to do?"" Savannah pleaded, looking up at me through swollen, mascara-streaked eyes. ""I’m having a baby in four months. I don't even have enough money for next month's rent.""
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""You can apply for state assistance, just like millions of other people who don't rely on destroying marriages to survive,"" I said, looking down at her one last time. ""And when Grant’s trial begins, you will take the witness stand for the federal government and tell the jury every single lie he whispered to you in my bedroom. If you do that, the prosecutor might decline to charge you as an accessory after the fact. That is the only mercy you will ever receive from me.""
I turned my back on her and walked through the grand double doors of my father’s house. Behind me, the security team zipped up the empty bags and escorted Savannah Brooks off the property forever.
