Chapter 5 - Eviction Notice
By three in the afternoon, the sky over Atlanta had opened up into a relentless downpour. In front of the sprawling iron gates of the Mercer estate in Buckhead, three white moving vans sat idling on the curb.
Inside the mansion, chaos reigned supreme.
Sloane was screaming at two private security guards who stood in the marble foyer with clipboards, methodically checking every item being carried out by the movers.
“Do you know who I am?” Sloane shrieked, clutching a designer crocodile-skin handbag to her chest. “Put that down! That oil painting was purchased in Milan!”
“The 18th-century landscape was bought by Vanguard Holdings in 2019, ma'am,” the head security officer replied impassively, consulting his digital manifest. “It stays on the inventory. Pack only your clothing and personal toiletries. You have one hour and twelve minutes remaining.”
Grant was running down the grand curved staircase, carrying two heavy leather luggage bags. His charcoal suit from the night before was rumpled, his hair unkempt, and the dark circles beneath his eyes made him look ten years older.
“Where is Emma?” Grant demanded, his voice hoarse from hours of futile phone calls to bankers who suddenly wouldn’t return his messages. “Tell her to come down here and face me!”
The front doors swung open.
Emma stepped inside, holding a long black umbrella. She was accompanied by a neutral court-appointed bailiff and two uniformed sheriff’s deputies.
“I am here, Grant,” she said calmly, shaking the raindrops from her coat.
Grant dropped his luggage with a heavy thud on the marble. He looked like a man drowning in dry land. “Emma, listen to me. I made a mistake. I was stressed about the Vanguard merger. Sloane convinced me that we needed to project total corporate dominance, that you were a liability because of the pregnancy—she manipulated me!”
“Grant, shut up!” Sloane gasped from across the foyer, her eyes wide with shock. “You came to my hotel room three months ago begging me to help you take over Vanguard!”
Emma looked between them, feeling neither triumph nor sadness. Just an overwhelming sense of profound relief. She was seeing both of them in their true, naked forms: two selfish predators who tore each other apart the moment the meat ran out.
“It doesn't matter who manipulated whom,” Emma said quietly. “You both signed your own eviction notices.”
“Emma, please,” Grant begged, dropping to his knees on the very floor where he had stood the night before and ordered her into the rain. He reached out to grasp the hem of her coat, tears streaming freely down his stubbled cheeks. “I love you. I swear to God, I love you and our baby. We can start over. We can leave Atlanta. We can sell everything and buy a farm like you wanted! Just don't destroy me!”
Emma looked down at the man she had promised to cherish until death. She remembered the way he had laughed on the windy Charleston beach, and she realized with total clarity that the man she loved had never really existed. He was an illusion made of money and charm, hollow to the core.
“You didn’t love me, Grant,” she said softly, stepping back so his hands fell to the cold stone floor. “You loved having a wife who never asked questions, who made your home comfortable, and who asked for nothing while you took everything.”
The court bailiff stepped forward, pulling out an official document with an embossed golden seal.
“Mr. Grant Mercer, Miss Sloane Whitaker. It is precisely four-thirty. Pursuant to the expedited emergency order issued by the Fulton County Superior Court, you are hereby ordered to vacate the premises immediately. Any refusal to comply will result in an immediate arrest for criminal trespass.”
Sloane snatched her overnight bag from the floor, threw a look of pure, venomous hatred at Grant, and stormed out into the pouring rain without another word.
Grant stayed on his knees for a long moment, staring at the floor. Finally, realizing that no amount of money, anger, or tears could save him, he pushed himself up. He picked up his two bags, walked past Emma without looking at her, and stepped out through the front doors.
The heavy oak doors clicked shut behind him.
May you like
Emma stood in the vast, silent house. She placed both hands over her belly, feeling the gentle, rolling kick of her daughter.
“We’re home, sweet girl,” Emma whispered, letting out a breath she felt like she had been holding for three long years. “And no one will ever tell us to leave again.”
