Chapter 2 - The Arrival of the Fleet
Ten minutes after the sheriff’s cruisers pulled down the gravel road with Ethan sitting in the back seat, Linda turned on me like a rabid dog.
"Get out," she snarled, stepping into the living room, her fingers curled into claws. "Get out of this house right now. You had my son arrested on his birthday! You pathetic, spiteful little hypocrite! Pack your bags and walk down the highway!"
His cousin Travis stepped inside too, puffing out his chest. "Yeah, Claire. You're done here. Leave the keys."
I didn't move an inch.
"I paid twenty-four hundred dollars for this rental, Linda," I said, my voice icy and calm. "My name is the only name on the lease agreement with Hocking Hills Luxury Cabins. My credit card paid for the security deposit. If anyone is trespassing on this property right now, it’s you and the twenty-three people you brought without my permission."
"You think a piece of paper matters?!" Linda spat. "This is Bennett family land for the weekend! We're not going anywhere!"
Just then, the heavy crunch of gravel outside signaled another vehicle arriving.
Linda smirked. "Good. The rest of Ethan's friends are here. Let's see how smart you feel when—"
She stopped.
Headlights—bright, high-beam halogen lights—washed over the cabin's front windows. Then another pair. Then a third.
The deep rumble of commercial diesel engines vibrated through the floorboards.
Outside, a massive white fifty-foot refrigerated commercial transport truck with the gold emblem of SUMMIT CATERING & LOGISTICS pulled onto the grass lawn. Behind it sat a sleek black Mercedes sedan, followed by two large cargo vans.
The door of the Mercedes opened, and my mother, Evelyn Vance, stepped out onto the gravel.
She wasn't wearing a casual weekend outfit. She wore a tailored charcoal blazer, silk trousers, and dark sunglasses despite the night air. Behind her stepped four large men wearing black polo shirts marked VANCE SECURITY & ASSET MANAGEMENT—the private security firm owned by my uncle.
Linda stepped onto the porch, her mouth open. "Who... who are those people?"
My mother walked up the porch steps with the deliberate, unhurried grace of a woman who owned every room she ever walked into. She pulled off her sunglasses, looked at Linda, and then looked at Travis.
"Good evening," my mother spoke, her voice carrying a terrifying, quiet authority. "I am Evelyn Vance. I am Claire’s mother. And I am the primary financial investor of the business you so charmingly called 'the cake thing' earlier today."
Linda blinked, her face working soundlessly. "Your... your daughter had my son arrested!"
My mother didn't even look at Linda’s face. She turned to the lead security officer beside her.
"Marcus," my mother said softly. "Check the lease contract on Claire’s phone. Every individual whose name is not Claire Bennett is to be escorted off this property within ten minutes. Anyone who hesitates is to be formally cited for criminal trespass."
"Yes, Mrs. Vance," Marcus replied, pulling a clipboard from his coat and turning toward the porch. "Alright, folks! Move it! Off the porch, down the driveway! Current occupancy is revoked!"
Panic swept through the Bennett family like a wildfire.
"Wait!" Travis yelled as two security guards stepped onto the porch. "Our cars are parked in the back! Our food is in the kitchen!"
"The food?" I said, standing up from the sofa and stepping out onto the porch beside my mother.
I looked at the twenty-three relatives standing on the lawn in the cold night air, shivering in their light summer clothes, watching the commercial refrigerated truck back up to the side deck.
"The food was purchased with my business account card," I said cleanly. "The twelve pounds of ribs, the wine, the ice, the appetizers, and the three-tier dark chocolate cake. Marcus, please assist my staff in loading all catering items into the summit transport truck."
Within fifteen minutes, four commercial kitchen workers in white coats marched into the cabin, pulled every tray of food, every bottle of bourbon, every salad bowl, and the entire dark chocolate cake out of the kitchen, and loaded them onto the refrigerated truck.
Linda stood on the muddy grass drive, her floral tablecloths thrown over her arm, her hair wild in the wind, watching as her family was marched down the driveway toward their cars by four private security officers.
"You can't do this!" Linda wept, her voice cracking in the cold air. "Where are we supposed to go?! It’s eleven o'clock at night! All the hotels in Hocking Hills are booked!"
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My mother looked down at Linda from the top of the porch steps, pulling her leather gloves snug around her fingers.
"I suggest you find a nice, cold swimming pool to sit by, Linda," my mother said cleanly. "It ought to cool your attitude down."
