Chapter 7 - The Eviction At Dawn
The next morning broke clear and sharp over the Georgia pines. By six o'clock, two white moving vans were idling in the circular driveway of the five-bedroom colonial house in Alpharetta that Eric and I had shared for seven years.
I stood on the front porch, wearing jeans, work boots, and a denim jacket, holding a clipboard with the court-ordered inventory manifests. Beside me stood Marcus Kane and two private bailiffs from the county superior court.
"Everything under Schedule A is cleared for removal, Maya," Marcus said, tapping his fountain pen against the legal brief. "The court granted an emergency interlocutory injunction freezing all joint marital assets and awarding you exclusive temporary occupancy of the primary residence."
"And his personal effects?" I asked.
"His brother arrived thirty minutes ago with a rented pickup truck," Marcus replied, gesturing toward the curb where a beat-up Ford F-150 was parked. "He has two hours to pack Eric's clothing and personal sporting equipment. Everything else—the art collection, the wine cellar, the vehicles—remains under court seal until the forensic audit is completed."
Eric's brother, Kevin, walked up the stone steps looking like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. Kevin had always been the quiet member of the Hart clan, an honest mechanic who had stayed out of Eric's social climbing.
"Maya," Kevin said, keeping his eyes on the wooden porch planks. "I'm sorry. I really am. I told him two years ago that he was flying too close to the sun. I had no idea he was doing... what he did with your sister."
"It's not your fault, Kevin," I said gently. "You have two hours. Take his clothes, his golf clubs, and his personal tools from the garage. Leave the electronics, the watches, and the paperwork. If the bailiffs find any business records in those boxes, they will confiscate the entire load."
"Understood," Kevin nodded. "Thank you for not making this harder than it already is."
While Kevin packed boxes inside, my phone buzzed continuously on the porch railing.
The story had gone viral across local business circles by midnight. Real estate forums, Atlanta social pages, and community message boards were buzzing with the scandal. Julian Vance had been forced to submit his immediate resignation from the board of directors of three prominent civic charities. His wife’s family had already filed for an emergency freeze on his partnership disbursements, effectively locking him out of his own firm.
Around eight o'clock, a beat-up yellow taxi pulled up to the curb.
The back door opened, and Natalie stepped out onto the asphalt. She had been released on ten thousand dollars bail, paid by a local bondsman who had demanded her diamond jewelry as collateral. She was wearing the same red dress from the night before, now hopelessly wrinkled and stained, with a pair of cheap plastic flip-flops she had purchased at the pharmacy across from the precinct.
She walked up the driveway with slow, unsteady steps, staring at the moving vans.
"Where is Eric?" she rasped, her eyes hollow, dark circles bruising the skin beneath her lashes.
"In county custody," I answered from the porch steps. "His bail was set at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars cash. He couldn't find a bondsman willing to touch him with half a million in unrecovered corporate wire fraud charges."
Natalie stopped at the base of the steps, looking up at me. "The doctor at the clinic called this morning, Maya. The prenatal test was contaminated. They need another sample, but Julian's lawyers already served me with a restraining order. I can't even get close to his office."
"Then you'd better find a good public defender, Natalie," I said without an ounce of malice. "Because my lawyers aren't negotiating. The money you took from Hart Logistics must be accounted for to the last cent. If you spent it on clothes and vacations, you will be making restitution payments from whatever wages the state corrections department allows you to earn."
May you like
Natalie stared at me, the last embers of her defiance burning out into cold ash. "You're really going to let them put me in prison? Your own sister?"
"You made your choices when you took that microphone, Natalie," I said, turning my back on her to hand a manifest to the bailiff. "Now you have to live with the sound of your own voice."
