Chapter 2 - The Cold Light of Morning
The quiet hum of my grand piano echoed through the sunlit hallway of my Bel-Air estate as I poured myself a cup of Earl Grey tea at 8:00 AM the following morning.
Sitting across from me at the marble kitchen island was Arthur Sterling, my personal attorney of thirty years. Arthur was eighty, sharp as a razor blade, and wore three-piece suits that looked like they belonged to a Supreme Court justice.
"They spent four hours at the police station last night, Eleanor," Arthur said, taking a slow sip of his black coffee and sliding a thick blue folder across the island. "The restaurant manager refused to let anyone leave without payment. Maxime tried to write a personal check, but when the manager called the bank, the account had already been locked by our emergency court order."
"How did they get out?" I asked calmly, enjoying the warmth of my tea.
"Chloé’s father had to drive down from the valley at 2:00 AM and pay the eighteen-thousand-dollar bill on his personal credit card," Arthur chuckled quietly. "Word has it Chloé’s father threatened to break Maxime’s legs on the police station steps for lying about his wealth."
"Good," I said softly. "Arthur, what is the status of the physical properties?"
"The repossession notices were served at 6:00 AM sharp," Arthur replied, pulling out three certified documents. "The lease companies have already towed Maxime’s Range Rover and Chloé’s Porsche Cayenne from their gated townhouse driveway. Furthermore, the landlord of their three-story penthouse in West Hollywood received our revocation of trust guarantee. They have forty-eight hours to vacate the premises before eviction enforcement steps in."
Before I could answer, the security intercom on my kitchen wall buzzed violently, followed by the deafening sound of fists pounding against the massive wrought-iron entry gates at the bottom of my driveway.
I touched the screen, activating the high-definition security camera feed.
Standing outside my front gate in the morning fog were Maxime and Chloé. Maxime’s suit from the night before was rumpled and stained with sweat; his tie was pulled loose, and his hair was a chaotic mess. Chloé was wearing oversized sunglasses, wrapped in a trench coat, holding a pair of designer heels in her hand while screaming at the security box.
"Mom! Open this damn gate right now!" Maxime shouted into the speaker, his voice distorted by rage and panic. "You repossessed my car! They towed my car from my own driveway! Are you insane?!"
I tapped the intercom button. "Good morning, Maxime. You're trespassing on private property. Please leave before security removes you."
"Mom, listen to me!" Maxime sobbed, dropping his tough-guy act instantly as he realized the magnitude of his situation. "I’m sorry, okay?! The dog bowl was just a joke! It was a joke! Chloé thought it would be funny! We were just teasing you!"
"A joke?" I said into the microphone, my tone colder than deep ocean water. "Putting a dog bowl under your mother's nose on her seventy-year birthday while six strangers record it is not a joke, Maxime. It is the action of a cruel, entitled coward who believes his mother is too weak to fight back."
"Mom, please!" Chloé shrieked into the camera, stepping in front of Maxime with tears streaming down her makeup-smeared face. "I'm pregnant! You can't do this to your own grandchild! You can't kick us out onto the street!"
I paused, looking at Chloé’s image on the screen.
Arthur looked up at me, an eyebrow raised in concern. "Eleanor... is she really pregnant?"
I reached into my desk drawer, pulled out a confidential private investigator's report from two weeks ago, and flipped to page three.
"Chloé," I said into the intercom, reading directly from the document. "You visited Dr. Evans’ cosmetic clinic in Beverly Hills three days ago for an elective liposuction consultation. Your medical lab work confirmed you are not pregnant. Trying to use an unborn child to manipulate me is perhaps the most sickening move you’ve made yet."
Chloé froze on the screen, her mouth opening and closing like a landed fish.
"You... you hired a private investigator on us?!" Maxime roared, slamming his fist against the iron speaker box.
"I hired an entire team of forensic accountants and investigators six months ago, Maxime," I replied softly. "The moment I noticed small irregularities in my trust distribution schedules. I know about the offshore accounts in Nevis. I know about the three million dollars you siphoned from the Vance Charitable Foundation. And I know about the forged power of attorney."
"Mom... please... don't do this..." Maxime whimpered, dropping to his knees on the wet asphalt outside my gate, clutching his hands together in front of the camera. "We have nowhere to go! My credit cards are dead! The bank locked my personal account! We don't even have money for breakfast!"
"Then I suggest you find a local shelter, Maxime," I said flatly. "Or perhaps you can eat from a dog bowl. I hear kibble is very nutritious."
May you like
I hit the red button, cutting the intercom feed, and turned to Arthur.
"File the formal eviction papers for their penthouse, Arthur," I ordered. "And tell the District Attorney that I am fully prepared to testify against my son in court."
Related Stories
