Chapter 4 - The Served Notice
By 2:30 p.m. that afternoon, I was back at the apartment. Savannah had woken up, eaten a light lunch prepared by the private nurse, and was sitting propped up against the pillows in the living room, looking slightly more rested, though her lip was still swollen and bruised.
I sat beside her on the sofa, holding her fragile hand in mine.
“Savannah,” I began gently, rubbing my thumb across her knuckles. “I spent the entire morning reviewing things. I saw the Notes app. I saw the backups.”
Savannah froze. All the color drained entirely from her face, and her eyes welled up with immediate, panicked tears. She pulled her hand away, shrinking back against the headboard as if she expected me to strike her.
“You—you read them?” she choked out, her voice trembling violently. “Christopher, I’m sorry! I didn't mean to spy! I just... I was so scared, and I didn't know who else to talk to, and if you didn't believe me—!”
“Hey, look at me,” I interrupted softly, cupping her face with my free hand, forcing her to meet my gaze. I made sure my eyes conveyed only absolute love and remorse. “Look at me, Savannah. I’m not mad at you. I’m furious at myself. I was blind, I was arrogant, and I let my own mother abuse the woman I love under our own roof.”
She stared at me, the terror in her eyes slowly giving way to a deep, agonizing wave of relief. She buried her face in my chest, sobbing uncontrollably as all the armor she had worn for three long years finally melted away. I held her tight, kissing her hair, letting her cry out every drop of pain she had bottled up inside.
“She’s gone, Savannah,” I whispered against her ear. “And she is never, ever coming back.”
Just as her breathing began to steady, the sharp, authoritative ring of our doorbell echoed through the apartment.
Savannah stiffened in my arms, her body going rigid. “Who—who is that?”
“Stay here,” I said calmly, standing up from the sofa and kissing her forehead. “I’ve got this.”
I walked down the hallway and pulled the heavy front door open. Standing on the welcome mat weren't delivery drivers or neighbors. It was two stern-faced federal marshals in dark suits, flanked by a local police officer and Victoria Vance holding a thick leather briefcase.
“Mr. Christopher Sterling?” the lead marshal asked, flashing an official badge.
“Yes,” I replied.
“We are acting on an emergency judicial warrant issued by the Superior Court of San Diego,” the marshal announced clearly. “We are looking for Bernice Sterling.”
“She doesn't live here anymore,” I said firmly. “She was evicted from these premises yesterday evening. However, I believe you’ll find her currently staying at the Grand Azure Hotel downtown, suite 412.”
Victoria Vance stepped forward, offering me a sharp, approving nod. She handed me a copy of the finalized restraining and criminal summons documents. “Thank you, Mr. Sterling. We’ll take it from here.”
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As the officers turned and marched toward the elevators to execute the service, I watched them go with a cold, unyielding satisfaction. Bernice had built her entire life around manipulating others, hiding behind family ties while committing cowardly acts of cruelty.
Now, she was about to find out what happens when the law finally catches up to a monster.
