Chapter 3 - The Eviction NoticeTwo days after the incident, discharged from the hospital and staying in a secure, undisclosed downtown suite arranged by Marcus, I received the first frantic call from Ryan.
My phone buzzed relentlessly on the marble coffee table. I let it ring out to voicemail twice before picking it up on the third attempt.
"Claire! Where the hell are you?" Ryan’s voice blasted through the speaker, frantic, angry, and laced with panic. "The building security wouldn't let me back into the penthouse! They said my keycard is invalid! And my business account—every single cent I have is frozen! What did you do?!"
"I locked my accounts, Ryan," I replied, my voice chillingly level. "And it's not your penthouse. It never was."
"Are you insane?!" he yelled, the sound of traffic in the background suggesting he was standing out on the freezing Denver street. "You cut off my cards? My mother and father are staying at a hotel downtown and we can't even pay the bill! My dad is beside himself! You need to call the bank right now and fix this, or so help me God—"
"Or what, Ryan?" I interrupted, cutting through his tirade like a razor blade. "Are you going to have your father burn me again? Are you going to hold my wrists while someone inflicts bodily harm on me and my unborn child?"
A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the line. For a second, the bravado completely drained out of him.
"Claire... look, what happened at the New Year's dinner... Dad had a few too many drinks, he was stressed about business—"
"He burned me with a cigarette, Ryan. You held me still while he did it," I whispered fiercely. "And while you were letting your family humiliate me, you were also stealing 1.4 million dollars from my personal accounts to fund a love nest in Aspen with Savannah Calloway."
The phone line went dead silent. You could have heard a pin drop.
"How... how do you know about that?" Ryan whispered, his voice trembling.
"Marcus is very thorough," I replied smoothly. "By the way, eviction papers for Grant and Diane were filed this morning. Their downtown condo—which you also leased using my corporate dividends—is being repossessed as stolen property. You have forty-eight hours to clear your belongings out of my penthouse before the sheriff's department does it for you."
May you like
"Claire, wait! Please! We can talk about this! We're having a baby!" he screamed, his voice pitching into sheer desperation as I ended the call and blocked his number.
I set the phone down on the table, exhaling a long, slow breath. The fear that had paralyzed me on New Year's Eve was entirely gone. In its place was the cold, calculating focus of a corporate executive protecting her assets—and a mother protecting her child.
