Chapter 5 - THE EVICTION OF A QUEEN
Vivian Hale believed she was untouchable.
She believed that the name “Hale” acted as a shield against the common laws of man.
When she was finally released on bail,
paid for by a secret account I hadn't yet frozen,
she didn't go to a hotel.
She went straight back to my house.
She expected to walk through the front door,
order a glass of sherry,
and complain about the “uncomfortable” jail cell.
Instead,
she found a team of movers on the front lawn.
I watched the scene through the security cameras on my laptop from the hospital.
She climbed out of the taxi,
her designer handbag clutched to her chest.
“What is the meaning of this?”
she shrieked,
her voice carrying over the sound of the moving truck.
A man in a suit,
my lead council,
stepped forward.
“Mrs. Hale,”
he said,
his voice smooth and professional.
“You are trespassing.”
“This is my son’s house!”
she yelled,
trying to push past him.
“Actually,”
the lawyer replied,
holding up a court order.
“This property is owned by the Thorne Irrevocable Trust.”
“As of ten o’clock this morning,”
“all residents have been legally evicted.”
“Your personal items have been boxed and placed on the sidewalk.”
“The locks have been changed.”
Vivian looked at the boxes,
her jaw dropping in a way that would have been comical if it wasn't so satisfying.
She saw her expensive furs and her collection of crystal vases sitting on the grass.
She saw the neighbors staring from their porches,
whispering behind their hands.
The “Queen of Hidden Hills” was being dethroned in front of the entire world.
“You can't do this!”
she screamed,
reaching for her phone.
“I’ll call the police!”
“The police are already here,”
the lawyer pointed out.
A squad car sat at the end of the driveway,
the officers watching her with bored expressions.
They had already seen the video of the boiling oil.
They had no sympathy for the woman on the lawn.
Vivian slumped against one of the boxes,
the weight of her reality finally sinking in.
She had no home.
She had no son to protect her.
And she had no money to fight the mountain of lawsuits I was piling on her head.
On my screen,
I saw her pick up a small,
silver-framed photo of Daniel and smash it against the pavement.
Even in her defeat,
she was violent.
Even in her ruin,
she was hateful.
I closed the laptop,
leaning back into the hospital pillows.
“One down,”
I whispered to the empty room.
“One to go.”
Lena walked in a few minutes later,
a wide smile on her face.
“I heard the news.”
“She’s currently trying to check into a Motel 6 with a credit card that just got declined.”
“The clerk said she threw a shoe at him.”
“He’s filing charges for that,
too.”
I laughed,
and for the first time,
it didn't hurt my chest.
The healing had begun,
not just on my skin,
but in the very core of my being.
I was no longer the woman who took the oil.
May you like
I was the woman who set the fire.
And I was going to watch it burn until there was nothing left but ash.
