Chapter 3 - The Notice on the Silver Door
While Tom worked methodically on the main entrance, changing out the brass cylinders for high-security digital keypads, I walked back through the silent, sunlit hallway to the dining room. The rented champagne towers glittered coldly under the crystal chandeliers, untouched and unnecessary.
A sharp, violent banging echoed against the front door, accompanied by Vanessa’s muffled, hysterical screaming.
“Open this door right now, you narcissistic old hag! I swear to God I will sue you for emotional distress, wrongful eviction, and harassment! Do you know who my father is? He’ll have your bar license revoked!”
I couldn’t help a dry, humorless chuckle. My bar license had been retired voluntarily with full honors five years ago, and my standing in the state legal community was pristine. Her father was a mid-level municipal auditor who currently owed back taxes on two commercial properties in Queens.
I picked up a manila envelope resting on the foyer console table. Inside were three distinct legal documents, freshly printed, signed, and notarized that very morning.
First was a formal Notice to Quit and Vacate Premises within 72 hours, citing breach of oral and written residency conditions. Second was a restraining order preventing Daniel and Vanessa from entering the master wing or tampering with any financial accounts registered to the residence. Third was an itemized list of damages and unauthorized property alterations they had performed over the past ninety days.
I walked to the heavy wooden door, sliding the manila envelope through the brass mail slot at the bottom.
A sharp gasp from the other side was followed by the sound of paper ripping frantically as Vanessa tore open the envelope.
“An eviction notice?” Vanessa shrieked, her voice pitching up into a shattering shriek. “Daniel, look at this! She’s trying to evict us! On Easter Sunday! In front of society!”
“Mom, open up! Let’s talk about this like adults!” Daniel shouted, his bravado completely replaced by sheer, naked terror. He knew his business failure had left him completely dependent on my financial goodwill. Without my house as a hidden asset or a roof over his head, he had nothing left.
“You’ve had three months to talk, Daniel,” I called out clearly through the thick oak, standing just inches from the panels. “Now you have seventy-two hours to pack your designer bags and find a motel that will accept your maxed-out debit cards.”
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“You’ll pay for this, Margaret!” Vanessa wailed, her fists hammering furiously against the wood. “You’ll be begging us to come back when you’re rotting in a nursing home all by yourself!”
“I prefer my own company to ungrateful parasites,” I replied calmly, turning away from the door and walking back toward the quiet sanctuary of the kitchen.
