"Okay," Marcus breathed, slipping the phone back into his pocket.
He looked at Maya. He managed a small, reassuring smile. "Your hands are going to heal, sweetheart. And everything she took from your mother is going back on the walls."
Before Maya could answer, the sound of heels clicking on the hardwood floor echoed down the corridor.
Vivian walked into the kitchen.
She had abandoned the bowl of chips. Now, she held a crystal glass filled with red wine, swirling it with the casual elegance of a woman who believed she had already won the war. She leaned against the doorframe, looking at Marcus and the child in the oversized maid's uniform.
"I called my lawyer," Vivian said, taking a slow sip of her wine. "He advised me to give you an hour to collect your personal belongings before I have you cited for trespassing. I’m being generous, Marcus. Don’t make this ugly in front of the help."
She smirked, looking directly at Maya.
Marcus stood up from the stool. He didn't look angry. He looked almost bored.
"Your lawyer," Marcus said. "You mean Richard Vance?"
Vivian’s smirk faltered. The wine glass stopped swirling in her hand. For a split second, the polished mask slipped, revealing the terrified amateur underneath.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Vivian said tightly.
"You should really check your email, Vivian," Marcus said smoothly. He walked toward her, closing the distance until he was standing just inches away. "Because things are about to get very ugly."
Chapter 3: The Eviction
Vivian stared at Marcus, her knuckles turning white around the stem of her wine glass. She tried to maintain her haughty posture, but the mention of Richard Vance had clearly rattled her.
"You're bluffing," Vivian said, her voice dropping its artificial sweetness. "You've been in Dubai. You have no idea what's been happening here. This house is mine, the accounts are secured, and you are leaving."
Marcus walked past her, brushing her shoulder, and headed back down the corridor toward the living room.
"Bring your wine, Vivian," Marcus called over his shoulder. "You're going to need it."
He didn't wait to see if she followed. He walked straight to the massive ninety-inch smart TV mounted above the marble fireplace. He pulled his phone from his pocket and swiped the screen, casting his display directly to the television.
Vivian trailed behind him, her heels dragging slightly. When she entered the living room, Maya was right behind her father, hiding in the shadow of his suit jacket.
The television screen flickered to life.
It wasn't displaying the security camera feed. It was displaying a split-screen dashboard. On the left side was a high-resolution scan of a bank transfer authorization, stamped with Marcus’s digital signature. On the right side was the audio file he had pulled from the hallway camera.
"You thought you were being clever," Marcus said, not looking at her, keeping his eyes on the screen. "You thought my wealth was a machine you could just siphon from while I was distracted."
He pressed play on his phone.
The audio of Richard Vance's voice echoed through the massive living room, amplified by the surround-sound speakers.