Chapter 5 - The Eviction of the Parasites
While the corporate office downstairs descended into a whirlwind of legal filings, police notifications for the CFO, and frantic emergency briefings with legal counsel, back at the Grandview Towers penthouse, the situation had deteriorated into pure, unadulterated chaos.
Judith Rowe sat rigidly on a cream-colored velvet armchair in the middle of the devastated living room, her designer handbag clutched in her lap like a shield against an invading army. Her hair, usually sprayed into an impenetrable, flawless helmet of blonde perfection, was slightly frizzy around the temples. Across the room, Vanessa Cole was pacing back and forth across the marble flooring like a trapped animal in a cage, her phone pressed frantically to her ear for the tenth consecutive minute.
"Pick up, Ethan! Damn it, pick up your phone!" Vanessa shrieked, slamming her thumb down to redial for the hundredth time before hurling the device across the room, where it shattered against the base of a marble pillar.
"Stop making that infernal racket, Vanessa," Judith snapped, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to maintain her aristocratic composure. "Pacing around like a hysterical adolescent isn't going to change the fact that your incompetence brought us to this exact juncture."
Vanessa spun around, her eyes flashing with venomous fury. *"My* incompetence? Are you out of your mind, Judith? *I* was the one who threw her worthless garbage off the balcony because you both said she was a pathetic nobody who would pack her bags and leave without a word! You were right there cheering me on! You smashed her phone with your own boot!"
"I acted in defense of my son's household against an intrusive, manipulative harpy!" Judith shot back, standing up from the armchair with surprising agility for a woman her age. "None of this would have happened if Ethan had simply handled his divorce proceedings like a man months ago instead of letting that ungrateful vet linger around like a bad smell!"
Before Vanessa could launch into another screaming tirade, the heavy private elevator chimed.
Both women froze, turning their heads toward the foyer. For a brief, desperate second, hope flared in their eyes.
*Ding.*
The elevator doors slid open.
It wasn't Ethan.
Instead, three uniformed building security guards, flanked by two towering corporate bailiffs carrying official paperwork and heavy-duty plastic storage bins, stepped out into the penthouse foyer. Leading the group was Marcus, the lobby security guard, holding a clipboard with an expression of grim, resolute satisfaction.
Judith’s jaw dropped. She marched forward, her posture rigid, projecting every ounce of entitled indignation she could muster. "What is the meaning of this? Do you have any idea who lives here? I am Judith Rowe! My son is the CEO of this entire building and this entire corporation! Get out of this apartment this instant or I will have every single one of you fired before the sun sets!"
Marcus stopped five feet from her, not even blinking. He raised his clipboard and flipped to the official legal seal stamped at the top of the document.
"Mrs. Rowe," Marcus said in a calm, steady voice. "Under emergency corporate directives issued thirty minutes ago by Alder Ridge Holdings—the sole financial guarantor and master leaseholder of this residential tower—the corporate housing agreement associated with Ethan Rowe has been terminated with immediate effect."
Vanessa gasped, rushing forward. "Terminated? You can't do that! Ethan is the CEO! He signed the lease!"
"Mr. Rowe's employment status was terminated at 2:15 PM today," Marcus replied evenly, gesturing to the bailiffs. "Furthermore, forensic audits have determined that all residential expenses, utility bills, and furnishing costs for this penthouse were illegally subsidized using misappropriated corporate funds. Which means everything inside these walls—down to the designer clothes in your closets and the jewelry on your dressers—is corporate property subject to immediate repossession."
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Judith staggered backward as if she had been physically struck, her hands flying to her chest. "Reposession? That's... that's absurd! My personal belongings are in the master suite! My furs, my heirlooms—"
"You have exactly twenty minutes to pack your personal effects into standard cardboard boxes provided by the bailiffs," Marcus interrupted, his voice leaving zero room for negotiation. "Anything left behind after twenty minutes will be cataloged as corporate inventory. Officers, begin clearing the bedrooms."
