Chapter 4 - The Eviction at the Gates
Grant didn't even have time to process the destruction of his financial scheme before reality hit him with the force of an oncoming freight train.
While he was still screaming at Paige in the middle of the empty living room, the front door swung open again. In walked David Carter, accompanied by two armed sheriff’s deputies and a commercial locksmith carrying a heavy steel toolbox.
“What in the hell are you doing in our house?” David asked, his calm, measured voice cutting through Grant’s hysterical rage.
Grant rounded on him, veins bulging in his neck. “Your house? This is my family’s estate! My father built this life! My senile mother had no legal authority to sell this property behind my back! I have a power of attorney!”
The senior deputy, a burly officer with twenty years on the job, stepped forward and tapped the clipboard in his hand. “Mr. Grant Vance?”
“Yes! Arrest these trespassers immediately!” Grant barked.
“Sir, you’re the one trespassing,” the deputy said flatly. “The county records were updated this morning. Mr. and Mrs. Carter hold the sole, clean title to this parcel. Furthermore, we have a filed copy of the revocation of your power of attorney, dated two days ago, along with a certified mental competency evaluation for Mrs. Evelyn Vance signed by Dr. Richard Bennett.”
Paige gasped, clutching Grant’s arm. “That doctor is corrupt! She bribed him! Grant, do something!”
“I am advising you to step off the premises immediately,” the deputy warned, resting his hand on his duty belt. “If you remain on this property for another sixty seconds, I will arrest you both for criminal trespass, disorderly conduct, and breaking and entering. You have no legal claim here.”
The locksmith immediately began drilling out the antique brass deadbolt on the front door, replacing it with a high-security electronic cylinder.
Grant looked around wildly. His empire of stolen equity had vanished in the span of thirty minutes. “Where did she go? Where is her money? Where did she move?!”
“That is none of your business, sir,” the deputy replied, escorting Grant and Paige backward onto the porch. “Now walk down those steps.”
Neighbors had already begun gathering at the edge of their manicured lawns, drawn by the sound of Grant’s screaming. Mrs. Gable, who had lived across the street for thirty years, stood by her mailbox with her arms crossed, watching with unvarnished satisfaction as Grant was marched down the brick path like a common criminal.
“You tell your mother she’s dead to me!” Grant roared toward the sky, knowing the neighbors were watching. “She won’t see her grandchildren ever again! She can rot in hell!”
“Keep walking, Mr. Vance,” the deputy ordered sternly, guiding them toward their vehicles.
As Paige scrambled into her SUV, sobbing from pure humiliation, the junk-hauler blocked Grant’s BMW. “Hey, buddy! You still owe me two hundred bucks for gas and time! Pay up or I’m taking your side mirror off!”
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With trembling hands and curses spewing from his mouth, Grant pulled out his wallet, threw a crumpled handful of twenty-dollar bills at the man's chest, and sped down the street, leaving black tire marks across the clean autumn asphalt.
Little did Grant know, losing the house was only the first domino in the massive financial collapse he had built for himself.
