Chapter 7 - The Midnight Eviction
"Wait! You can't just leave us here!" Evelyn cried out, stumbling after me as I walked toward the exit of the pavilion.
I stopped and looked back over my shoulder. "Why not? You're surrounded by paradise. Enjoy the view."
"The island lease is canceled!" Evelyn screamed, tears streaming down her face now as the full weight of the situation hit her. "Mr. Laurent just said the resort is evicting everyone at dawn! How are we supposed to get home? Our return flights were booked under Greg’s corporate account!"
I pulled a small, sleek business card from my pocket and tossed it onto the wooden table near my father's plate.
"Call the commercial airlines," I said flatly. "Buy your own tickets. Use whatever cash you have left in your purses. Because as of midnight, my corporate accounts are unlinking from this resort entirely."
I walked down the steps of the pavilion and out onto the moonlit wooden boardwalk leading back toward our private bungalow. The tropical night air was warm, but a fierce, liberating wind blew in off the ocean, clearing the heavy scent of fake luxury and replacing it with the clean, salty smell of the open sea.
When I reached the bungalow, I pushed open the door quietly.
The room was dark, illuminated only by the soft, warm glow of the bedside lamp. Mia was still fast asleep, curled up under the white duvet, hugging a small stuffed rabbit I had packed in her carry-on.
I walked over to the bed, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her forehead. Her breathing was slow, even, and completely peaceful. She didn't know about the drama, the millions of dollars, the fraud, or the fractured family left behind on the other side of the island.
To her, I was just Mommy. And that was all that mattered.
My phone chimed softly on the bedside table. I picked it up. It was a message from Mr. Laurent:
All private security details have been secured around your bungalow, Ms. Vance. The resort launch is fueled and ready to transport you and your daughter to the Maldivian international airport at 6:00 AM sharp. The rest of the party has been restricted to the main dining hall pending their commercial arrangements.
I typed a brief reply: Thank you, Laurent. Cancel all remaining catering credits and transfer the residual balance to the marine conservation fund.
May you like
Done, he replied instantly.
I set the phone down, kicked off my sandals, and slid into the bed beside my daughter. I pulled the blanket up over us both, holding her close against my chest.
