Chapter 2 - The Silent Eviction
While Dominic and his family were savoring pan-seared sea bass and laughing over the bright prospects of NexaCore’s upcoming public listing, four unmarked commercial transport trucks were backing up to the loading dock of our luxury rental building on Tenth Avenue.
I remained in the penthouse suite thirty floors above Central Park, wrapped in a soft silk robe, resting comfortably in a reclining medical bed while Dr. Alvarez, my family's private physician, gently dressed my incision with sterile silicone sheets and administered an intravenous dose of mild pain relievers. Beside me, Leo slept soundly in an antique mahogany crib that had held three generations of Brooks infants.
My father sat in an armchair across the room, reading through a stack of blue leather folders. Charles Brooks was sixty-four years old, with silver hair cropped close, steel-gray eyes that missed nothing, and a reputation on Wall Street for being as generous with his loyal friends as he was merciless with his enemies.
“The building lease on Tenth Avenue,” Dad said without looking up from the documents, his voice crisp and level. “It’s held in your name, isn't it?”
“Yes,” I replied softly, taking a sip of warm herbal broth. “Dominic didn't have the credit rating or liquid reserves required by the management board when we moved in fourteen months ago. I put down the eighteen-month security deposit from my personal trust account and co-signed as the sole primary tenant.”
Dad closed the folder with a dry, decisive snap. “Good. Edward has eight logistics operatives on-site right now. Every single item of clothing, every baby gift, every piece of furniture purchased with your trust funds, and every personal document belonging to you and Leo is being cataloged, wrapped, and transported to our private storage facility in Westchester. By four o’clock this afternoon, the apartment will be stripped down to the bare hardwood floors.”
“What about Dominic's belongings?” I asked.
“His off-the-rack suits, his gaming monitors, and his mother’s cheap luggage will be placed in standard cardboard boxes and stacked neatly on the sidewalk in front of the lobby entrance,” Dad replied smoothly. “Along with a formal notice of lease termination signed by building management. The locks are being rekeyed as we speak.”
Meanwhile, across town on Tenth Avenue, Edward Vance stood in the center of the apartment’s foyer, holding a clipboard while movers in uniform efficiently packed my belongings into padded crates.
The building’s concierge, Marcus, stood nearby with a tablet in hand. Marcus had known my father for twenty years. “Mr. Vance, Mr. Vance’s husband—or rather, Mr. Dominic—called the front desk twenty minutes ago asking why his digital key fob wouldn't activate the parking garage gate.”
Edward glanced at his watch. “What did you tell him, Marcus?”
“I informed him that per the primary leaseholder’s instructions, his access privileges have been revoked, and his personal vehicle registration on the residential manifest has been permanently purged.”
“Excellent,” Edward murmured. “And the vehicle currently parked in stall twelve?”
“The black Cadillac Escalade? The title deed is registered solely to Audrey Brooks. The towing transport arrived five minutes ago. It is already secured on the flatbed and en route to the Brooks motor pool in Long Island City.”
At precisely 3:45 PM, a yellow taxi screeched to a halt in front of the building entrance.
Dominic stepped out of the cab, his face flushed red with alcohol and irritation, his silk tie loosened at his collar. Behind him came Victoria, clutching a half-empty designer shopping bag from Bergdorf Goodman, followed by Natalie, who was loudly complaining about the heat and the lack of an available black car service.
“This is ridiculous!” Dominic fumed, marching up the granite steps to the glass entrance doors. “I pay fourteen thousand dollars a month for this building! Marcus! Open this door right now! The scanner is malfunctioning!”
Marcus stood behind the glass desk, his hands clasped behind his back, staring straight ahead as if Dominic were nothing more than a passing pigeon.
Dominic rattled the brass handles violently. “Marcus! Did you hear me? I have my family with me! What the hell is going on?”
The side service door clicked open, and Edward Vance stepped out onto the sidewalk, flanked by two building security officers.
Dominic turned around, sneering. “Who the hell are you? Are you with building maintenance? Tell this clown behind the desk to open the doors before I call the property owners and have his entire shift terminated!”
Edward didn't blink. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a white envelope, and held it out toward Dominic.
“Mr. Dominic Vance?”
Dominic snatched the envelope, ripping it open. Inside was a certified copy of the vehicle recovery report, an emergency notice of lease surrender, and a court-certified restraining order prohibiting Dominic Vance, Victoria Vance, and Natalie Vance from entering within five hundred feet of Audrey Brooks or her infant son.
“What is this garbage?” Dominic yelled, his voice cracking into a high pitch as he skimmed the legal jargon. “Audrey did this? That pathetic little mouse? Where is she? Tell her to get down here right now! She’s my wife! She doesn't have the legal right to lock me out of my own home!”
Victoria shoved her way past Dominic, her painted face twisting with contempt. “Listen to me, security guard! My son is the CEO of a multi-million-dollar technology firm! He is backed by Apex Capital! If that lazy little girl thinks she can throw a temper tantrum because we left her to take the bus, she is sorely mistaken! Tell her to bring my grandson down here immediately so we can check on his welfare!”
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Edward looked at Victoria with the kind of icy detachment reserved for stepping over garbage in an alley.
“Mrs. Vance,” Edward said, his voice quiet, calm, and terrifyingly cold. “Your grandson is currently sleeping in a penthouse that costs more than your son’s entire extended family will earn in three lifetimes. And as for your son’s multi-million-dollar technology firm... I suggest he check his corporate email before the market closes at four o’clock.”
