Chapter 6 - The Eviction & The Public Meltdown
At ten o’clock the following morning, the front double doors of *Vance & Associates, CPAs* were violently shoved open, the brass bell above the lintel ringing in frantic, uneven bursts.
I was standing at the central copy station, handing a set of revised tax binders to my senior associate, when the commotion erupted in the reception foyer.
"Where is she?"
It wasn't Darcy. It was Shay.
She looked entirely unhinged. The glossy, perfectly curated veneer she wore like armor had completely fractured. Her blonde hair was thrown into a messy, greasy bun; she was wearing an old grey sweatshirt and sweatpants that dragged under her sneakers. She had no makeup on, her eyes were swollen and red from two days of non-stop crying, and her chest was heaving with raw, adolescent hysteria.
Behind her stood Chloe, looking distinctly uncomfortable, holding Shay’s designer handbag as if she were desperately searching for an excuse to run back out to the parking lot.
"Miss, you cannot come back here!" Brenda shouted, rising from behind her desk with her phone in hand. "This is a restricted corporate office!"
"Shut up!" Shay screamed, her voice cracking across the quiet professional space. She spotted me standing by the copy machine and charged down the central hallway, her sneakers squeaking loudly against the polished hardwood. "You ruined my life! You ruined everything, you vindictive bitch!"
My staff froze. Three junior accountants popped their heads out of their cubicles, their eyes wide with shock. A corporate client sitting in the glass-walled conference room paused mid-sentence, staring through the pane in horrified fascination.
I didn't back up. I didn't flinch. I handed the binders to my associate, turned my body fully toward her, and folded my arms across my chest.
"Shay," I said, my voice dropping into an icy, resonant register that commanded the room. "You have exactly ten seconds to turn around and leave this building before the police are dispatched to escort you to county jail."
"Call them!" she shrieked, stopping three feet from me, her face contorted into an ugly, spitting mask of hatred. "Call them! Tell them how you left me stranded forty miles from school! Tell them how you stole my car! Tell them how you got me kicked out of my apartment!"
"I didn't kick you out of your apartment," I said, keeping my volume low, forcing her to either lower her voice or look like an unhinged lunatic. "I simply declined to continue paying twelve hundred dollars a month for your luxury housing. You are twenty-three years old. If you want an apartment, sign the lease yourself."
"You know I can't sign it!" she sobbed, tears splashing onto the front of her dirty crewneck. "They want three times the rent! They want a credit score! I don't have a credit score because you never put my name on the utility bills! You kept me trapped!"
The sheer, staggering hypocrisy of the statement almost made me laugh.
"I kept you trapped by paying your rent, your car insurance, your tuition, and your credit cards for four years?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is that what you told your friends? That you were a prisoner of my generosity?"
Shay glanced back at Chloe. Chloe had already backed away toward the front exit doors, her face pale, clearly realizing that the narrative Shay had spun about an abusive, controlling stepmother was an absolute fabrication.
"Chloe," Shay pleaded, her voice trembling. "Tell her! Tell her what she’s doing to me!"
"I... I think I'm gonna wait in the car, Shay," Chloe muttered, pushing through the glass doors and disappearing down the front steps without looking back.
The realization that her audience was gone knocked the wind out of Shay’s sails. Her shoulders slumped slightly, the manic fury draining away, leaving behind the pathetic, hollow petulance of a child who had realized her tantrum had no power.
"Why are you doing this to me?" she whimpered, her voice dropping into a ragged whisper. "I have two months left until graduation. You're going to make me drop out? After all this time?"
"I am not making you do anything, Shay," I said, stepping closer to her, looking directly into her red, swollen eyes. "On Sunday, you looked me in the eye and said: *'You're not my mom. You're just some woman my dad married.'* You told me you didn't owe me anything. You told me we weren't family. Well, you were right. We are not family. You are a legal adult with an able body and a capable mind. Go get a job. Go talk to the financial aid office about student loans. Take the bus. Ride a bike. Live like the rest of the millions of college students who don't have a wealthy benefactor footing the bill."
"My dad will sue you," she whispered, a desperate, final attempt at defiance. "He’s going to take half of everything you have."
A cold, humorless smile touched my lips.
"Your father," I said, pulling an envelope from the pocket of my blazer, "was served with divorce papers forty-five minutes ago at the clinic. Accompanied by an emergency ex parte order signed by Judge Martinez, granting me exclusive possession of my home. The local sheriff’s department is currently at the house supervising the removal of his personal clothing. By five o'clock tonight, the locks will be rekeyed."
Shay’s jaw dropped. The last remnants of color fled her face. "What?"
"If you want to see your father," I continued softly, "you can find him at the Budget Motel on Route 9. That is where he booked a room for the next three nights. Now, get out of my office before I press charges for criminal trespass."
Shay stood there for five agonizing seconds, her hands trembling, her breathing shallow and ragged. She looked around the office, seeing the cold, unyielding stares of my staff, realizing that there was no pity here. There was no sympathy for someone who had bitten the hand that fed her for half a decade.
May you like
She turned and stumbled toward the exit, nearly tripping over her own sweatpants as she pushed through the double doors and fled into the parking lot.
***
