Chapter 8 - Stripped Bare
With Brooke and Gloria en route to county jail, Deputy Miller turned his attention back to Trent, who was sliding down the pillar until he was sitting on the cold flagstones like an abandoned child.
"Mr. Lawson, you have ten minutes to collect your personal clothing and vacate these premises," the deputy said firmly. "Anything left behind will be inventoried and disposed of by the property owner."
"Harper, please," Trent whimpered, looking up at me through bloodshot, tear-filled eyes. "You know I was manipulated! Brooke set me up! She saw that I was vulnerable and she exploited me!"
"You chose to steal from me, Trent," I replied, my voice devoid of anger, which seemed to terrify him more than any screaming match could. "You chose to look me in the eye every month while taking sixty-five thousand dollars of my money to fund your secret life."
"I was desperate!" he sobbed, clutching at his designer slacks. "I didn't know how to pay off the markers! I was terrified they would hurt me!"
"You could have come to me with the truth," I said simply. "Instead, you threw divorce papers in my face, ordered me out of my own home, and demanded that I continue financing your mistress and your mother."
Trent scrambled to his feet, trying to reach for my hands, but Deputy Miller stepped firmly between us, his hand resting on his service weapon.
"Keep your distance, sir," the officer ordered. "Get your bags, or you will be transported directly to the precinct for criminal obstruction."
Trent shuffled up the steps into the house, his guests having long since scattered into the night, leaving behind half-eaten plates and spilled drinks. When he emerged ten minutes later, he carried two nylon duffel bags containing his clothes.
He walked over to the Mercedes AMG coupe parked near the fountain, reaching into his pocket for the keys.
"Leave the keys on the hood, Trent," I said, pointing toward the vehicle.
"This is my car!" he shouted, his voice cracking into high-pitched hysteria once again. "My name is on the registration!"
"The registration is under Lawson Commercial Developments LLC," Evelyn stated, holding up the corporate title document. "Every monthly lease payment was drawn from Harper’s corporate operating account. You are an unauthorized driver."
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Trent stared at the keys in his hand, his jaw working silently as he realized he had literally nothing left. The clothes on his back were the only possessions he had not stolen.
He dropped the silver key fob onto the hood of the Mercedes, picked up his two duffel bags, and began the long, humiliating walk down the three-mile mountain driveway in the dark.
