Chapter 3 - The Illusory Triumph
Back in the Scottsdale house, Gwendolyn was in her absolute element.
By 10:00 AM the morning after I left, contractors were already parked in the driveway. Gwendolyn stood in the center of my former second-floor bedroom, gesturing grandly to a team of interior designers.
"We’re ripping out all these drab bookshelves," Gwendolyn instructed, her manicured hand sweeping across the room. "Chloe needs a full custom shoe wall right here. And this antique desk—throw it out. It’s cluttered trash."
Chloe sat on my former bed, scrolling through her phone with a triumphant smirk. "Mom, can we knock down the wall into the hallway bath? I want a private en-suite spa."
"Of course, darling," Gwendolyn beamed. "Whatever you want. It’s your room now."
Arthur stood in the doorway, holding a lukewarm mug of coffee. He looked tired, his eyes darting toward the empty closet where my clothes used to hang. A faint prickle of guilt wrestled with his desire to maintain quiet in his home.
"Gwendolyn," Arthur spoke up tentatively. "Don't you think we should wait a few days before tearing the room apart? Paige might come back once she realizes how expensive apartments are in the city."
Gwendolyn turned around, her eyes narrowing into cold slits. "Arthur, please. Paige is twenty-four years old. She’s been acting entitled ever since she graduated. She’s probably staying on some friend’s couch, waiting for you to call and beg her to return. If you go soft now, she will walk all over us forever."
"She didn't take any money, Gwen," Arthur muttered, looking down at his coffee. "She didn't ask for a dime."
"Because she’s stubborn!" Chloe chimed in, not looking up from her screen. "She’s trying to make you feel guilty, Dad. Just ignore her. She’ll be broke by the end of the month."
Before Arthur could reply, the heavy iron front doorbell echoed through the house.
"Oh, that must be the marble suppliers!" Gwendolyn said excitedly, smoothing her designer linen trousers. "Arthur, go get the door. And tell them we need the white Carrara slabs delivered by Friday."
Arthur sighed, turning away from the bedroom and walking down the grand floating staircase. He opened the massive wrought-iron front door, expecting to see a delivery driver in work boots.
Instead, he was met by a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal three-piece suit, flanked by two uniformed county process servers holding thick leather binders.
"Arthur," Marcus Vance said coldly, stepping onto the threshold without waiting for an invitation.
May you like
Arthur paled instantly, taking a step back. "Marcus? What... what are you doing here?"
"I’m here on behalf of my client," Marcus stated, gesturing to the senior process server beside him. "We are executing a formal notice of trust activation, immediate revocation of life estate, and an emergency order of eviction."
