Chapter 6 - Unmasking the Parasites
Forty-eight hours later, the eviction notice matured.
At 7:30 AM on a crisp Thursday morning, a convoy of four unmarked vans, two Greenwich police cruisers, and a moving truck pulled up to the circular driveway of the stone-faced Greenwich mansion.
I was sitting in the back of my father’s Escalade, watching through tinted windows. Arthur had asked if I really wanted to be there. He told me I could stay at his penthouse in Manhattan, that I didn't need to subject myself to the ugliness.
“I need to see it, Dad,” I had told him. “For three years, they made me feel small. I need to watch their kingdom fall so I know it’s really over.”
Outside the grand double doors of the house, Patricia Vance was shrieking like a wounded animal. She was wearing a velvet dressing gown and pink slippers, her dyed blonde hair wild and uncombed. Two female police officers stood firmly on the porch, blocking her from re-entering the house.
Behind the officers, a team of professional movers in uniform were wheeling out furniture, tagging items with yellow legal stickers.
“You can’t take that!” Patricia screamed, lunging toward a mover who was carrying a gilded French antique mirror. “That mirror was imported from Paris! Daniel bought that for my sixty-fifth birthday!”
“With stolen trust funds, ma'am,” one of the officers replied dryly, putting a gloved hand on Patricia’s shoulder to guide her down the steps. “Step back. Everything on the property is subject to the court-ordered asset freeze.”
Daniel stumbled out of the garage, carrying two heavy duffel bags. He looked completely unhinged. His eyes were bloodshot, his stubble thick and uneven, his shirt stained with coffee. When his eyes caught the black Escalade parked across the street, he froze.
He dropped the bags onto the asphalt and sprinted toward our vehicle.
“Emily!” he screamed, his voice cracking. “Emily, I know you’re in there! Look at what you’re doing to my mother! Have you no shame? Have you no humanity?”
Before he could get within ten feet of the SUV, two of my father’s private security guards stepped out, their muscular frames instantly forming a human wall. One of them caught Daniel by the collar, twisting him around and shoving him firmly against the hood of Patricia’s white Mercedes.
“Mr. Vance,” Victoria Vance’s voice rang out as she stepped out of the passenger side, holding a clipboard. “You are currently in direct violation of the temporary restraining order. Take one more step toward Mrs. Whitmore, and Officer Miller will have you in handcuffs before you can blink.”
Daniel looked at the police officer standing nearby, who nodded sternly, his hand resting on his utility belt.
Defeated, Daniel slumped against the car. His gaze drifted past the guards and locked onto the tinted window where I sat. He couldn't see me through the darkened glass, but he knew I was watching.
“Emily…” he sobbed, his voice suddenly morphing into the pathetic, pleading whine he used whenever his anger failed. “Please. Look at us. Where are we supposed to go? We don’t have anywhere to sleep! They turned off the water in the house! The bank took the cards! We have nothing!”
I rolled down the window just two inches. The cold morning air rushed into the warm cabin.
“You have each other, Daniel,” I said, my voice steady, clear, and completely devoid of pity. “Just like you always told me. Remember? When you made me throw away my college photo albums? You told me family was all that mattered.”
Patricia ran up behind him, her face twisted in pure hatred. “You ungrateful little whore!” she spit, her venom spilling over. “We gave you a roof over your head! We took you in when your father threw you out like trash! You couldn't even cook a proper Sunday roast, and now you’re throwing an old woman into the cold?”
“You dumped ice water on a dying woman, Patricia,” Arthur’s voice boomed from inside the car, terrifying and lethal. “Be grateful my daughter has more mercy than I do. If it were up to me, you would be sitting in a holding cell right now waiting for an aggravated assault indictment.”
Victoria signaled the movers. A flatbed tow truck reversed down the driveway, its hydraulic arms lowering around the tires of the white Mercedes.
“Wait! That’s my car!” Patricia screamed, throwing herself against the hood. “Daniel, stop them! That’s my Mercedes!”
“Registered under Vance Holdings, purchased with funds drawn on account number ending in 4091—the Sterling Trust,” Victoria recited without looking up from her papers. “Towed and impounded for public auction to satisfy restitution damages.”
As the tow truck began to winch the luxury car onto its bed, Vanessa arrived in an Uber. When she stepped out and saw the movers carrying boxes of her designer clothes and handbags down the front steps, she collapsed onto the lawn, howling in despair.
Daniel stood there, surrounded by his weeping mother, his screaming sister, and his piles of garbage bags filled with cheap laundry.
I rolled the window back up, cutting off the noise.
“Drive,” Arthur told the chauffeur.
May you like
The Escalade purred to life, pulling smoothly away from the curb. In the side mirror, I watched the three of them shrink into tiny, pathetic specks against the backdrop of the house they had stolen and lost in less than a week.
***
