Chapter 4 - The Eviction Crew
By three in the afternoon, two large white moving vans pulled up in front of the luxury downtown mid-rise where Chloe and Eric lived. The Austin sun was blistering, radiating off the asphalt, but inside the air-conditioned lobby, the building concierge, an older gentleman named Arthur who had known Daniel for a decade, looked up with a warm, sorrowful smile.
""Mrs. Brooks,"" Arthur said, stepping out from behind the mahogany desk. ""I... I heard about little Ethan. I am so terribly sorry. Daniel was the finest gentleman this building ever saw.""
""Thank you, Arthur,"" I said gently, shaking his hand. Beside me stood Marcus, clutching a heavy leather binder containing the certified court orders, the deed, and the emergency property reclamation notice. ""Arthur, we are taking possession of unit 14B today. The tenant status has been legally terminated due to breach of occupancy terms.""
Arthur looked at Marcus’s badge and papers, then looked at me. There was no hesitation in his eyes. In fact, he let out a quiet sigh of relief. ""To be completely honest with you, Mrs. Brooks, Mr. Miller—Eric—has been an absolute nightmare. Loud parties on weekdays, screaming at the valet staff, throwing cigarette butts off the balcony. Just last week he threatened to sue me because I wouldn't accept an Amazon package for his side business. If you’re clearing them out, you have my full cooperation.""
Arthur keyed us into the private elevator. When the doors slid open on the fourteenth floor, we walked down the carpeted hallway to the heavy oak door of 14B. Marcus signaled to the two licensed locksmiths standing behind us. Within four minutes, the high-security deadbolts were drilled out, removed, and replaced with heavy-duty smart locks programmed solely to my biometric thumbprint.
The door swung open, and the smell of expensive lavender air freshener and stale red wine hit me.
The condo was luxurious. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows offered a panoramic view of the Austin skyline. On the Italian marble kitchen island that Daniel had custom-installed sat half-empty bottles of champagne and Chloe’s vanity mirror.
""Alright, boys,"" Marcus instructed the team of six professional movers who followed us inside, carrying rolls of industrial packing tape and heavy cardboard boxes. ""Listen carefully. Every single item belonging to Daniel Brooks’s estate—the furniture, the television sets, the kitchen appliances, the artwork on the walls—remains untouched. All personal items—clothing, shoes, makeup, personal documents, and loose electronics—go into boxes. Label them numerically. Everything is going to the secure storage facility in Buda. Nothing gets broken, nothing gets stolen. We have body cams running.""
I walked into Chloe’s walk-in closet. Rows upon rows of designer dresses hung neatly. On the upper shelves sat luxury handbags—Louis Vuitton, Chanel, Gucci. I knew the receipt history for half of those bags; Chloe had whined and begged Daniel and me to loan her money for her ""career influencer image,"" promises of repayment that evaporated into thin air the moment the shopping bags were unpacked.
I watched as the movers systematically emptied the closet, dropping silk dresses and tailored blazers into garment boxes. Eric’s collection of imported scotch, his expensive golf clubs, his shoe collection—everything was cataloged, sealed, and rolled out on dollies.
My phone chimed with a text notification from the repossession agent Marcus had hired: “Target acquired at 4:12 PM. The 2022 Ford F-250 has been safely loaded onto the flatbed from the driveway in Round Rock. Neighborhood was very observant. Truck is en route to the secure impound lot.”
I looked out the vast window of unit 14B, down at the bustling streets below. My father’s truck was gone. His pride and joy, the truck he used to brag about at family barbecues while Daniel paid the insurance, was currently chained to a tow truck.
At 5:30 PM, a commercial real estate agent named Julian arrived at the apartment. He was a shark in a tailored gray suit, representing an investment group looking for turnkey residential assets in downtown Austin.
""One point two million,"" Julian said, running his fingers over the granite countertop after a twenty-minute inspection. ""All cash. No contingencies. We can waive the appraisal and close by Monday afternoon at two o'clock. My buyers want this exact floor plan for corporate housing.""
""One point two five,"" I countered, looking him dead in the eye. ""And you wire the funds directly to the Brooks Memorial Foundation escrow by noon Monday.""
Julian stared at me for three seconds, reading the absolute, unyielding resolve in my face. He extended his right hand. ""Deal, Mrs. Brooks. I’ll have the purchase agreement on Marcus’s desk within the hour.""
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As we walked out of the emptied condo, Arthur held the front door open for us. The apartment was stripped clean of Chloe and Eric’s presence. On the heavy oak door, Marcus taped a bright yellow, laminated legal notice of immediate eviction, non-trespass warnings, and the contact number for the storage unit where their belongings would sit—accruing daily fees that they would have to pay to release.
""Let’s go, Marcus,"" I said, slipping my sunglasses over my eyes. ""The first act is finished. Now we wait for the flight from Miami to land.""
