Chapter 8 - The Eviction Notice
When Mason finally arrived back at the Paradise Valley estate via an expensive taxi he had to pay for using crumpled twenty-dollar bills found in his glove compartment, he found Beatrice already there.
She had hitched a ride from an acquaintance from her church, and she was standing on the front porch, banging her manicured fists against the solid mahogany front door.
“Open this door!” Beatrice shrieked, her voice hoarse. “Open this door right now, Valerie! All my jewelry is in there! My medication is in there!”
The front door remained shut.
Standing on the porch beside the heavy planters was Marcus Vance, Valerie’s lead divorce attorney, flanked by two private security personnel in tactical gear. Marcus was fifty-five, silver-haired, impeccably tailored, and possessed the friendly, predatory smile of a great white shark.
“Mrs. Sterling,” Marcus said smoothly, holding up a laminated court order. “I advise you to step back from the threshold. Striking that door constitutes an attempt to breach a protected residential perimeter under Arizona Revised Statutes.”
“Who the hell are you?” Mason yelled, stumbling up the stone stairs, his hair matted with sweat. “This is my house! I live here! Get off my property!”
“Actually, Mr. Sterling, it isn't,” Marcus replied, adjusting his silk tie. “The deed of 4410 Palomino Ridge is held entirely in the Valerie Thorne-Sterling Sole Revocable Trust, acquired using non-commingled pre-marital funds and protected by the post-nuptial financial affirmation you willingly signed three years ago in exchange for Valerie clearing your commercial debts.”
Mason blanched. “That… that agreement wasn't legal! I was under duress!”
“It was notarized by independent counsel of your choosing, Mr. Sterling. It is ironclad,” Marcus smiled. “Furthermore, this morning at 10:30 AM, Judge Patricia Reyes signed an emergency Temporary Restraining Order barring both you and your mother from entering this property or coming within five hundred feet of Valerie Thorne.”
“Where are we supposed to sleep?” Beatrice cried, grabbing Mason’s arm. “Mason! Tell him! My casita! I live in the casita!”
“The guest casita is an accessory dwelling unit on the same parcel,” Marcus said coldly. “Your personal belongings have already been professionally packed into seventeen standard storage crates. They are currently being transferred to a climate-controlled storage facility in North Scottsdale. Valerie has generously prepaid the first thirty days.”
Marcus reached into his pocket and dropped two silver keys onto the concrete steps.
“Those are the keys to storage locker 402. After thirty days, failure to pay the monthly rental fee will result in the contents being auctioned to the highest bidder.”
Beatrice let out a high-pitched wail and collapsed onto the stone bench. “My fur coats! My antique silver! You can't do this! Mason, do something!”
Mason stared at Marcus with burning hatred. “This isn't over, Vance. She’s going to pay for this. I will take half of everything she has! Every stock option! Every bonus! I’ll take her firm for millions!”
Marcus chuckled, a low, dismissive sound that infuriated Mason even more. “Mr. Sterling, you might want to spend less time dreaming about Valerie’s stock options, and more time finding a criminal defense attorney. The Phoenix Police Department and the Maricopa County Prosecutor’s Office have just opened an inquiry into wire fraud regarding Apex Media Partners.”
Mason’s face lost every shred of color. His knees visibly buckled.
May you like
“Now,” Marcus said, turning his back on them. “Vacate the premises, or the officers parked at the foot of the hill will take you both directly back to jail.”
***