Chapter 7 - The Eviction of Chloe
On the pristine sidewalk outside 1800 Rittenhouse Square, Chloe Sterling sat on the bottom step of the luxury condominium entrance, wearing oversized sunglasses and sobbing hysterically into her diamond-encrusted iPhone.
“What do you mean, *account restricted*?!” she screamed into the phone. “I am Chloe Sterling! Check the balance again! There is three million dollars in that trust checking account!”
“Ma’am,” the automated voice from the banking portal clicked off, replaced by the calm, measured tone of a primary branch manager. “As per the court order issued this morning by Judge Harrison, all secondary credit instruments linked to the David Sterling Memorial Trust have been frozen pending forensic audit. Your card is flagged for confiscation. Have a pleasant day.”
The line went dead.
“No, no, no!” Chloe shrieked, hurling the phone against the sidewalk. The ceramic screen shattered into spiderwebs.
Beside her, four massive trunks of designer clothes, shoes, and jewelry sat piled haphazardly. Two private security guards employed by the building’s HOA stood at the revolving glass doors behind her, their arms crossed.
“Miss Sterling,” the head concierge said through the intercom speaker. “The building manager has instructed us to inform you that your lease was held in the name of Sterling Horizon Holdings. The guarantor has terminated the lease agreement effective immediately due to fraud. You have fifteen minutes to remove your personal effects from the curb, or the city sanitation department will be called to clear the walkway.”
“You can’t do this to me, Andre!” Chloe wailed, turning around, her face smeared with mascara and bronzer. “I tipped you ten thousand dollars at Christmas! I live here!”
“The money you tipped me was stolen from an orphan’s charity, Miss Sterling,” the concierge replied coldly. “Please clear the driveway.”
A sleek black Lincoln Navigator pulled up to the curb.
Chloe’s heart leaped. “Mom? Dad? Is that you?!”
The tinted passenger window rolled down.
Sitting in the back seat was Sarah.
She was wearing a soft cream cashmere sweater and loose linen trousers, looking fragile and pale, but her posture was upright, regal, and composed. Beside her sat Mark, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders.
Chloe gasped, scrambling to her feet, stumbling slightly as her fresh abdominal incision pulled painfully. She rushed toward the car door. “Sarah! Sarah, thank God! Tell these people to let me back inside! Dad went crazy last night and pushed you, but I had nothing to do with it! You know I love you! You know I’m your sister!”
Mark pressed the window lock, opening the pane only two inches—just enough for Sarah’s voice to cut through the morning air.
“We aren’t sisters, Chloe,” Sarah said, her voice quiet, steady, and devoid of the warmth she had spent twenty-eight years pouring into their relationship. “We share no blood. We share no name. We share nothing.”
Chloe’s hands clawed at the glass. “Sarah, please! Look at me! I don't have anywhere to go! They canceled my cards! They took the Mercedes! The landlord won't let me upstairs! I just had surgery, Sarah, my stitches are burning!”
Sarah looked at the girl who had spent a lifetime treating her like an unwanted shadow. She remembered the endless holidays where Chloe opened stacks of designer presents while Sarah was given chores; she remembered Chloe laughing as Richard berated Sarah for getting a B-plus on a college exam; she remembered Chloe reclining on that velvet sofa last night, watching her bleed out on the granite floor without lifting a finger.
“You wanted my seat, Chloe,” Sarah said softly. “You wanted my place in the house. You wanted my father’s legacy. You let your parents bleed me dry so you could play the princess.”
“I didn't know about the money, I swear!” Chloe sobbed, tears cutting lines through her heavy makeup. “Mom handled everything! I didn't know!”
“You knew,” Sarah replied. “When I was eighteen, and Grandfather offered to pay for my tuition to Johns Hopkins, you threw a tantrum until Evelyn convinced him to send me to a state school instead so you could have a pony in the Hamptons. You knew every time you took from me. And last night, when I told you our baby was in danger and I needed to rest, you looked me in the eye and said, *‘Nobody cares about your stupid baby, Sarah. Get off my sofa.’*”
Chloe froze. Her jaw trembled. “Sarah... I was on painkillers... I was confused...”
“My daughter was born at thirty-two weeks, Chloe,” Sarah continued, her eyes fixed on Chloe’s face with unrelenting clarity. “She has a plastic tube in her throat so her lungs don't collapse. She weighs three pounds. While you were worrying about the contour of your waistline, my child was fighting to survive the fall your greed caused.”
Sarah reached into her bag, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, and pushed it through the narrow gap in the window. The bill fluttered down, landing on top of Chloe’s patent-leather Christian Louboutin pumps.
“Take the bus, Chloe,” Sarah said quietly. “Go find Julian Rossi. Maybe your real father will give you a seat.”
“Roll it up, Mark,” Sarah commanded.
May you like
The tinted glass slid shut, sealing out Chloe’s screams as the Lincoln pulled away from the curb, leaving the former heiress weeping on the pavement amidst her abandoned luggage.
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