Chapter 4 - THE PACKING OF ILLUSIONS
By noon, the atmosphere in the grand house had shifted from arrogant denial to chaotic panic. Evelyn refused to leave the master suite, locking herself inside and throwing expensive porcelain vases against the door whenever Daniel knocked.
"Mother, open the door! We need to pack!" Daniel shouted, sweat beading on his forehead as he paced back and forth across the Persian rug in the upstairs hallway. He looked pathetic, his expensive designer shirt rumpled, his hair uncombed.
I sat at the wrought-iron table in the glass conservatory, sipping fresh lemonade while reading a legal brief. My bandaged hand throbbed faintly, a constant reminder of the catalyst that had shattered their illusion of control.
Daniel rushed into the conservatory, stopping short when he saw me. "Lena. Please. Call your lawyer. Call Margaret. Tell her we can work out a settlement. You want a divorce? Fine. We can split the bank accounts. But you can't throw us out on the street! Where are we supposed to go?"
"Try a motel," I suggested mildly, turning a page in my brief. "Or perhaps Evelyn can sell some of her silk scarves. I hear vintage designer items fetch a decent price on secondary markets."
"You're being cruel," Daniel hissed, stepping closer. "After everything we shared? Two years of marriage! Two years of me putting up with your cold, distant personality!"
I looked up, my eyes narrowing into a cold stare that made him flinch. "Two years of me cooking your meals while your mother insulted my lineage. Two years of you gaslighting me into believing I was a guest in my own home. You didn't marry me for love, Daniel. You married me because my trust fund paid off your startup debts, and you thought you could slowly edge me out of the deed until my name was wiped entirely."
Daniel swallowed hard, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "How... how did you find out about the startup funds?"
"Margaret is very thorough," I replied simply. "And accountants talk when you subpoena their tax filings."
At that moment, the master suite door upstairs clicked open. Evelyn emerged, wearing oversized sunglasses to hide her tear-streaked face and dragging a massive Louis Vuitton trunk behind her. Her dignity was in absolute tatters.
"Daniel!" she cried out shrilly. "The credit cards! They're all declined! Every single one!"
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Daniel pulled out his phone with trembling fingers, tapped his banking app, and stared at the screen with horror. "Frozen... all company accounts and personal cards are frozen by court injunction."
"Welcome to reality," I said, standing up and smoothing my skirt. "Your forty-eight hours start now. Make sure you don't scratch my walnut floors on your way out."
