Chapter 3 - The Parasite's Entourage
By 8:00 a.m. the following morning, I had already changed the digital deadbolts on the condo, called a professional cleaning service to restore my dining room, and retained the city's top family law attorney, Eleanor Vance.
I was sitting in my living room sipping hot coffee when the heavy brass knocker on my front door rattled aggressively.
I didn't flinch. I checked my phone screen, which streamed the live footage from the hallway camera.
Standing outside was Gregory. Beside him stood his mother, Patricia—a woman who wore designer knock-offs and treated everyone in the service industry like dirt—and a man in a rumpled suit carrying a leather briefcase.
I opened the door, leaning casually against the frame.
"Clara!" Patricia barked, shoving her way into the foyer without waiting for an invitation. "What is the meaning of this insolence?! My son spent the night sleeping in his car because you locked him out like a dog!"
"Good morning to you too, Patricia," I said smoothly. "And who is your friend?"
The man in the suit stepped forward, clearing his throat awkwardly. "My name is Arthur Pendelton, legal counsel for Mr. Gregory Hayes. Mrs. Hayes, my client is prepared to file for emergency spousal support and exclusive occupancy of this residence based on marital abandonment and domestic volatility."
I let out a soft laugh. "Domestic volatility? Is that what Gregory called it when he kicked my oak table into splinters because his pot roast was forty minutes late?"
"You attacked him!" Patricia screeched, pointing a manicured finger at my face. "Look at his shoulder! He can barely raise his arm! You are an abusive, unhinged woman, and we are going to take everything you have! This condo, your savings, your investment portfolio—"
"Patricia," I interrupted, my voice dropping into a cold, commanding register that made her sentence freeze in her throat. "Shut up."
"How dare you—"
I turned to the lawyer, Arthur Pendelton. "Mr. Pendelton, before you waste another billable hour representing this family, I suggest you ask your client about the $180,000 in personal gambling debts he accumulated across three offshore betting sites prior to our wedding."
Pendelton’s eyes darted toward Gregory. Gregory’s face went instantly pale.
"I am a senior forensic financial analyst, Mr. Pendelton," I continued, pulling a printed dossier from the side table and holding it out. "It took me forty-five minutes last night to pull Gregory's credit history through my firm's databases. He married me thinking my assets would clear his debts before his loan sharks came collecting. Isn't that right, Gregory?"
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Gregory swallowed hard, stepping back behind his mother. "Clara, please... we can talk about this privately..."
"There is nothing to talk about," I said, handing the dossier to the bewildered lawyer. "You have two hours to remove your clothes from my closet, Gregory. If you aren't gone by noon, the police will receive the financial audit detailing how you forged my signature on a joint loan application two days before our wedding."
