Chapter 5 - A Disgraceful Public Stunt
I didn't flinch. I didn't raise my hand to block the camera, nor did I shout. Grandpa Arthur had taught me that when a predator tries to bait you into an emotional frenzy, silence and absolute stillness are your sharpest weapons.
I stared directly into the phone lens with cold, unblinking clarity, then shifted my gaze to Deputy Miller.
"Deputy Miller," I said evenly, my voice projecting clearly over Chloe’s manic babbling. "Before you say another word, I want you to know that the security camera mounted right above your left shoulder is recording audio and high-definition video directly to an off-site legal server managed by Vance & Sterling LLP."
Miller hesitated, his hand hovering over his utility belt. He glanced upward, spotting the discreet commercial-grade dome camera tucked into the porch eaves. A flicker of doubt crossed his ruddy face.
"Clara," Miller said, attempting a softer tone that reeked of condescension. "Your folks are worried sick about you. Your dad says you’ve locked yourself in Arthur’s house and you’re having an episode. We just want to come inside, make sure you're safe, and let your parents handle the estate matters. Arthur passed, kiddo. You can't stay here alone."
"I am twenty-two years old, Deputy," I replied. "I am a legal adult of sound mind, and I am not alone. Mr. Vance, my late grandfather's personal attorney and the trustee of the Oakridge Estate, is standing right behind me."
Mr. Vance stepped forward, his posture rigid and towering. He extended a stiff, embossed business card between two fingers, thrusting it into Miller’s chest.
"Deputy Miller, you are currently acting outside your jurisdiction on private property without a judicial warrant," Mr. Vance said, his voice dropping into the icy register of a courtroom prosecutor. "The property you are standing on is not Arthur Vance’s personal estate—it is held in the irrevocable Oakridge Heritage Trust, of which Clara Vance is the sole designated beneficiary and legal resident. Furthermore, Richard Vance and Lydia Vance were formally served with trespass warnings via registered courier at eight o'clock this morning."
Richard’s face turned the color of a bruised plum. He shoved his way past Chloe, pointing a trembling, nicotine-stained finger at Mr. Vance.
"You senile old fossil!" Richard spat. "You forged that damn trust! Arthur was eighty-two years old! He had dementia! He didn't know what he was signing! I am his only biological son! His blood! Everything he owned belongs to me, not this ungrateful little orphan we dumped on his porch out of pity!"
The words hung in the air like a slap.
Chloe gasped, quickly panning the phone camera away from Richard’s venomous face, realizing he had just broken character on her live stream. The comments rolling down her screen began shifting from sympathy to shock.
*Did he just say he dumped her out of pity?*
*Wait, I thought she ran away?*
*Who is that man? He sounds unhinged.*
Lydia rushed forward, grabbing Richard’s arm with a frantic pinch to shut him up. She instantly switched back on her practiced, tragic-mother routine, dabbing at her dry eyes. "What Richard means... what my husband means, Deputy, is that Clara was always troubled. Arthur took her in because we couldn't handle her outbursts. We sacrificed so much for her! And now, on the darkest day of our lives, she’s stealing our family legacy. Clara, baby... just give us the keys to the master bedroom and the study. Let us in. We’re your family."
"You haven't called me on my birthday since I was six years old, Lydia," I said, my voice cutting through her performance like a scalpel. "You didn't visit Grandpa once while he spent three months dying in hospice. You didn't even pay for a single flower at his service yesterday. You showed up twelve hours after his burial with a twenty-six-foot U-Haul because you thought the house was empty."
Chloe sneered, stepping closer, her veneer of internet sweetness slipping away. "You think you're so smart, don't you? Sitting in this rotting old house like a queen on a pile of dirt. Dad already promised the land to Mr. Sterling! The paperwork is being processed! You're going to be out on the street by the end of the week, Clara, and I’m personally going to film the sheriff throwing your cheap clothes into the gutter!"
"Chloe!" Lydia hissed, but the damage was done.
"Deputy Miller," Mr. Vance said, his tone absolute steel. "You have heard the parties. There is no domestic dispute here; there is an attempted unlawful detainer and harassment by unauthorized individuals. If you do not remove these three trespassers from this property within five minutes, I will contact Sheriff Higgins directly on his private cell, followed immediately by an emergency injunction naming you personally in a civil rights violation lawsuit under Section 1983."
Miller swallowed hard. He knew Sheriff Higgins was up for re-election, and Mr. Vance was one of the largest donors to the county legal aid society.
"Alright, that’s enough," Miller muttered, turning around and putting a heavy hand on Richard’s shoulder. "Richard, back up. Vance has paperwork, and you don't. We’re doing this through the county probate court, not on the front porch. Move your truck past the gate."
"Miller, you coward!" Richard roared, thrashing against the deputy’s grip. "I paid you for—"
"Shut your mouth and walk, Richard!" Miller snapped, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as he dragged my father down the porch steps.
As they retreated toward their vehicles, Chloe lingered at the bottom step. She lowered her phone, her eyes burning with pure, unadulterated venom.
May you like
"Enjoy your little victory, little sister," Chloe hissed quietly, so Miller wouldn't hear. "Dad’s not leaving town. And neither am I. You don't know who we're dealing with. Apex Energy always gets what it wants. By tomorrow night, you won't even have a roof over your head."
***
