Chapter 3 - The Hostile Takeover
The sun was beginning its slow, dramatic descent toward the horizon, painting the New England sky in bruised shades of purple and orange by the time my rental car tore back into the paved circular driveway of the $400,000 beach house. The exterior lights of the luxury property were already glowing warmly, casting a golden hue over the manicured lawn where Lindsay’s kids had left a scattering of colorful plastic shovels and buckets.
I killed the engine, turned to Oliver—who was gripping the passenger door handle with white-knuckled terror—and gave him a reassuring nod. "Stay in the car, honey. Watch and learn."
I didn’t bother walking up the steps to knock politely this time. I strode straight up to the heavy oak front door, raised my right hand, and pounded on the wood with such force that the entire frame rattled. When no one answered immediately, I twisted the brass doorknob. To my absolute lack of surprise, Lindsay hadn't even bothered to engage the deadbolt.
The door swung wide open, revealing the expansive, sunlit living room.
Susan and Frank were still lounging on the sofa, sharing a large bowl of potato chips while watching a reality television show on the massive flatscreen TV I had purchased for Oliver. Lindsay was standing by the kitchen island, pouring herself a generous glass of white wine from a bottle that definitely didn't belong to a struggling single mother.
The moment they saw me standing in the doorway, the relaxed, smug smiles evaporated from their faces as if someone had thrown ice water over them.
"How did you get back in here?" Lindsay shrieked, slamming the wine bottle down so hard a splash spilled across the marble countertop. "You have no right to just walk into someone else's home!"
"Someone else's home?" I echoed, letting out a sharp, cynical laugh that echoed off the vaulted ceilings. I stepped fully across the threshold, my heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor. "Lindsay, darling, let's get one microscopic detail straight before your tiny brain explodes: this is my house. My name is on the deed. My money paid for every single brick, every square foot of hardwood, and every piece of furniture you are currently sitting on."
Susan slowly lowered her bowl of potato chips, her face flushing with indignant southern-genteel outrage. "Andrea, do not take that tone with us. We are guests here—family guests—and you are making a scene over nothing. Oliver is an adult; he chose to leave."
"Oliver didn't choose a damn thing, Susan, and you know it," I snapped, turning my full, venomous glare toward my former mother-in-law. "You and your husband sat there sipping iced tea this morning while lying straight to my face, knowing full well my son had been bullied, threatened, and extorted out of his own home so you could play vacationing aristocrats!"
Frank stood up slowly, trying to project an aura of intimidating patriarch authority. "Now see here, Andrea—"
"No, you see here, Frank!" I cut him off, stepping right up to him, forcing the older man to take an involuntary step backward. "You think because Matt orchestrated this little coup behind my back that you’ve won? You think you can squat in my real estate investment while my son studies for organic chemistry in a roach-infested tenement? You have exactly twenty minutes to pack every single one of your belongings, load your screaming brats into your cars, and get off my property. If you aren't gone by then, I am calling the police, filing formal criminal trespassing charges against every single one of you, and having your cars towed into the Pacific—meturously speaking, of course."
Lindsay’s face turned the color of a bruised plum. She marched forward, pointing a manicured finger right in my face. "You can't do that! Matt gave us permission to live here! He said—"
"I don't give a flying leap what Matt said!" I roared, my voice reverberating through the entire house. "Matt doesn't own this property! He doesn't pay the property taxes, he didn't sign the mortgage, and he doesn't have a legal leg to stand on! If Matt wants to house his deadbeat sister and his freeloading parents, he can buy them a $400,000 house of his own! This one belongs to me and my son!"
At that exact moment, the front door swung open wider, and heavy footsteps echoed in the entryway.
Matt stood framed in the doorway, having clearly been summoned by a panicked text message from Lindsay. He looked flustered, his tie loosened, his face red with sudden anger as he took in the chaotic scene.
"What in God's name is going on here, Andrea?!" Matt bellowed, marching into the living room, trying to assert his dominance. "Have you completely lost your mind? Terrorizing my family—"
"Your family?" I spun around to face my ex-husband, a lethal smile plastered across my face. "Oh, Matt. I'm so glad you're here. You’re just in time to witness the eviction."
Matt sneered, crossing his arms. "You can't evict them, Andrea. This is a family matter. We settled this."
"You didn't settle anything, Matt. You committed fraud, extortion, and illegal tenant displacement," I said smoothly, pulling my phone out of my pocket and tapping the screen. "In fact, while I was driving back here from Oliver's slum apartment, I had a very delightful, three-way conversation with my high-powered real estate attorney and the local chief of police. I informed them that unauthorized squatters had broken into my private property under false pretenses orchestrated by my ex-husband."
Matt’s smug expression faltered, a flicker of genuine panic finally crossing his eyes. "You... you called a lawyer?"
"And the police," I added sweetly. "They are currently dispatching two cruisers to this exact address. They should be pulling into the driveway in approximately... oh, three minutes."
Lindsay let out a strangled gasp, turning wildly toward Susan. "Mom! He's going to arrest us!"
"She's bluffing," Frank muttered, though his voice lacked any conviction whatsoever. "She's just trying to scare us."
"Am I?" I stepped over to the front window and pointed outside.
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Right on cue, two marked police cruisers turned sharply into the circular driveway, their overhead emergency lights flashing a brilliant, blinding blue and red against the twilight sky. The sharp crunch of gravel under heavy tires sounded the death knell for their comfortable little squatting adventure.
Matt stared out the window, his jaw slack, the horrifying realization finally dawning on him that I hadn't come here to argue—I had come here to wage total war.
