Chapter 5 - The Clearing of the House
At 12:00 PM on Monday, a large moving truck sat idling outside the front gate of the lake house.
Two movers were carrying out the final wardrobe boxes containing Vivian and Lauren's clothes under the watchful eye of a private security detail I had hired.
Vivian stood near the passenger side of her leased sedan—a car whose lease payments had been drawn from my trust account, and which was scheduled for repossession by the end of the week.
She looked small, old, and completely stripped of her artificial authority. Her linen suits were packed in boxes; her high-society friends had stopped answering her calls; and her daughter Lauren was sitting in the front seat of the car, staring blankly at her phone as her boutique creditors began filing lawsuit after lawsuit.
I walked down the stone steps of the porch, wearing a simple dark sweater and jeans.
Vivian looked at me as I approached the car.
"Are you going to put us in prison, Erin?" she asked, her voice cracking, completely devoid of the mocking tone she had used on Friday.
I stood near the driver's door, looking out over the quiet, blue waters of the lake where my father had taught me how to fish twenty years ago.
"Arthur Vance and the State's Attorney are reviewing the forensic audit, Vivian," I said smoothly. "If you surrender all claims to the estate, sign a full confession regarding the forged power of attorney, and agree to make full restitution from the sale of your personal jewelry, Arthur will recommend a deferred prosecution agreement."
Vivian let out a long, shuddering sob, covering her face with her hands. "I gave you a home..."
I turned my head, looking her straight in her eyes.
"My father gave me a home, Vivian," I corrected softly, every word clean, clear, and absolute. "You gave me an audience for your cruelty. And today, the show is closed."
She didn't answer. She opened the car door, slid into the passenger seat beside her weeping daughter, and pulled the door shut.
May you like
The sedan backed down the gravel driveway, its tires kicking up tiny clouds of dust that drifted away into the cool afternoon breeze, vanishing forever over the pine trees.
I stood alone in the driveway, listening to the quiet rustle of the oak leaves and the gentle lapping of the water against the wooden dock.
