Chapter 2
“I’m thinking Cabo,” Chloe declared, scrolling lazily through Instagram on her phone. “And Daniel has to rent us a cabana by the infinity pool. I am not staying in a standard room like common tourists.”
“Naturally, darling,” Margaret agreed, sipping her specialty herbal tea from my favorite bone-china cup. She glanced toward the kitchen where I was quietly wiping down the counters. “Natalie! Stop polishing those faucets for a second and bring us a fresh plate of blueberry scones. And make sure they’re warm this time—you know how sluggish Daniel gets on Saturday mornings.”
I didn't rush. I placed the warm scones onto a porcelain plate, arranged them neatly, and walked into the living room, setting the tray down on the coffee table right in front of Daniel’s feet.
Before Daniel could reach for a pastry, a sharp, authoritative knock hammered against the front door.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
Margaret frowned, annoyed. “Who on earth could that be at nine in the morning? Chloe, check the peephole—tell whoever it is we’re not interested in charity donations or religious pamphlets.”
Chloe rolled her eyes, walking over to the front door and pulling it open.
Standing on the porch was a tall, imposing man in a sharp charcoal suit, holding a thick, waterproof leather briefcase and a clipboard. He looked like an executioner in business casual.
“Is this the residence of Daniel Vance?” the man asked in a deep, booming voice that echoed clearly into the living room.
“Uh... yes?” Chloe blinked, confused. “Who are you?”
“Process server,” the man announced smoothly, stepping past her uninvited into the foyer. He pulled out three separate manila envelopes stamped with crimson legal seals. “I have legal notifications, asset injunctions, and eviction summons for Daniel Vance, Margaret Vance, and Chloe Vance, issued by the Superior Court of Cook County.”
The living room went instantly dead silent. The college football broadcast blaring on the television screen suddenly felt miles away.
Daniel bolted upright on the sofa, his brow furrowing in angry confusion. “What the hell is this? I don't owe anybody anything! Who sent you? Is this some kind of prank?”
The process server didn't flinch. He walked right up to the coffee table, ignoring the scones, and tossed the first envelope directly into Margaret’s lap, the second onto Chloe’s lap, and the third squarely onto Daniel’s chest.
“Sent by Marcus Vance, counsel for Natalie Vance,” the process server stated crisply. “Have a pleasant weekend.”
Without waiting for a response, the man turned on his heel, walked out the front door, and pulled it shut behind him with a soft, final click.
For five seconds, nobody moved. The envelopes sat on their laps like ticking time bombs.
Margaret was the first to recover, her aristocratic composure cracking into thin air. She picked up the manila envelope with trembling, manicured fingers, pulled out the thick stack of papers inside, and scanned the top sheet. Her face, usually powdered to a smooth perfection, drained of all color until she looked like a corpse.
“D-Daniel...” Margaret whispered, her voice cracking into a high-pitched squeak. “What... what is this? It says... it says here we’re being evicted from the property. It says this house belongs exclusively to Natalie under a pre-existing family trust.”
Chloe dropped her phone, staring down at her envelope in sheer horror. “Mine says my luxury apartment lease guarantee has been permanently revoked and my credit cards have been frozen! Dad, what is going on?!”
Daniel ripped open his envelope, his eyes darting frantically across the legal terminology. As his gaze scanned the pages detailing divorce filings, emergency asset freezing orders, corporate forensic audits, and the immediate revocation of his signature authority over Vance & Associates, the arrogant color in his face turned to a sickly, mottled gray.
He scrambled off the sofa, clutching the papers as if they were venomous snakes, and stumbled toward the kitchen where I stood leaning calmly against the counter, my arms crossed over my chest.
“Natalie... what is this?!” Daniel roared, his voice trembling with a mixture of blind rage and sudden, creeping terror. “Divorce papers?! An asset injunction?! You’re freezing my corporate operating accounts?! Have you completely lost your goddamn mind?!”
I didn't cower. I didn't look down. I looked straight into his eyes, letting him see the cold, unyielding fury burning behind my gaze, framed by the faint, healing crescent scar on my lip.
“I haven't lost my mind, Daniel,” I said, my voice steady, ringing with absolute, crystal-clear authority. “I’ve simply found it.”
“You can’t do this!” Daniel screamed, waving the papers in my face. “Everything I built is mine! The company is mine! This house is mine! You’re just a parasite living off my success—without me, you’re nothing!”
“Is that so?” I raised an eyebrow, stepping away from the counter and pulling a slim tablet out of the pocket of my cardigan. I unlocked the screen and tapped the display, sliding it across the kitchen island toward him. “Read the attachment on page four, Daniel. That’s the original capitalization agreement from five years ago when you started your architectural firm out of a rented basement. Look closely at the signature line under primary seed funding.”
Daniel glanced down at the tablet. His eyes widened to the size of saucers.
There, clear as day, was my maiden name—Natalie Sterling—listed as the ninety-percent majority stakeholder and sole financial backer of the startup, with Daniel listed merely as a managing employee operating under a revocable employment contract.
“No... no, this is impossible,” Daniel stammered, shaking his head frantically. “I... I thought this was just a standard partnership form! You said you were helping me launch!”
“I was helping you launch,” I replied coldly. “And today, I’m grounding you permanently.”
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Margaret hurried into the kitchen, clutching her eviction notice to her chest like a shield, her voice shaking with desperate fury. “You ungrateful, malicious little bitch! You can’t throw us out on the street! We’re family! We made you a part of this household!”
“No, Margaret,” I said, turning my gaze toward her with a look that made the older woman recoil. “You made me a maid, a banker, and a punching bag. But the bill is finally due. And you’re all completely broke.”
