Chapter 4 - The Cleaning of the HouseRevenge isn't about hurting the people who broke you; it's about rebuilding your home so high that their hands can never reach you again.
The next morning.
The sun broke brightly over the green trees of Shaker Heights, casting golden light across the grand mansion Spencer had been so proud of.
Four large moving trucks were parked in the driveway, and a team of workers in white gloves was carefully loading mahogany furniture, oil paintings, and crystal chandeliers into the back.
Phoebe stood in the grand foyer, wearing a comfortable cashmere sweater and dark trousers, holding a clipboard. Beside her stood Mrs. Gladys, the longtime housekeeper, wearing a brand-new uniform and a wide, beaming smile.
"Mrs. Gladys," Phoebe said warmingly, turning to her. "I have officially purchased this entire property from the bank auction this morning. It is no longer Spencer’s home. It is mine."
Mrs. Gladys wiped a happy tear from her eye. "Oh, Miss Phoebe... I am so relieved. When I saw how he treated you last night, my heart broke into pieces."
"Well, things are changing around here," Phoebe smiled, sliding a document across her clipboard. "I am doubling your salary, giving you four weeks of paid vacation every year, and hiring three assistant housekeepers so you don't have to work so hard."
Mrs. Gladys gasped, covering her mouth in disbelief. "Miss Phoebe! That's... that's too generous!"
"You were the only person in this house who showed me kindness when I was at my lowest," Phoebe said gently, squeezing the old woman's hands. "You deserve far more."
Suddenly, the heavy front doors creaked open.
Spencer walked into the foyer, flanked by a police officer. He was wearing the same crumpled suit from the night before, his eyes bloodshot, his face pale and unshaven.
He froze when he saw Phoebe standing in the center of the hall, surrounded by movers.
"Phoebe...?" Spencer whispered, his voice hoarse. "What... what are you doing with my things?"
"They aren't your things anymore, Spencer," the police officer informed him coldly, pulling a legal document from his belt. "Mrs. Phoebe Harrell has purchased the property deed and all foreclosed interior assets from the bank. You have fifteen minutes to collect your personal clothing in a single suitcase and vacate the premises."
Spencer stared at the officer, then at Phoebe, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "You... you bought my house?!"
"I bought the land my father's company originally sold to your developer," Phoebe corrected smoothly. "As for your clothing... Mrs. Gladys has already packed your bags. They are waiting for you by the gate."
Spencer’s eyes filled with fresh tears of absolute humiliation. "Phoebe... please... at least let me keep my silver watch... the one my father gave me..."
"The watch you bought with the company credit card last month?" Phoebe asked, raising an eyebrow. "It’s currently being evaluated by the bankruptcy court auditors."
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Spencer slumped his shoulders, his pride completely shattered. He looked around the grand home he had worked his whole life to attain, realizing that every single brick, every piece of glass, now belonged to the woman he had called 'embarrassing' just twenty-four hours ago.
"Goodbye, Spencer," Phoebe said quietly, turning her back on him and walking up the grand staircase.
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