Chapter 4 - The Real Master of Cedar Hill
"That's illegal!" Eleanor shrieked, lunging forward like a cornered animal, her face contorted with pure rage. "You tricked us! Samuel was out of his mind! He was old, he was sick, he didn't know what he was signing! We can sue! We’ll sue you, Sterling, and we’ll sue this ungrateful little thief until she’s homeless!"
"You are welcome to try, Mrs. Lawson," Mr. Sterling replied with absolute, chilling professionalism. "However, the document was witnessed by two independent magistrates, recorded on high-definition video during the private signing at the hospital, and vetted by three separate estate attorneys. Samuel Lawson was of entirely sound mind. He simply knew his family better than they knew themselves."
Chloe burst into noisy, ugly tears, sinking onto the floor amid the shattered glass and champagne.
"My Malibu house!" she wailed, pounding her fists against the Persian rug. "My penthouse! Dad, do something! Tell them they can't do this! I already picked out my interior designer!"
Robert stared at the document as if it were a venomous snake. All the arrogant bluster he had carried into the law office that morning had completely evaporated, leaving behind a small, pathetic man who realized he had just gambled away a fortune through sheer, unbridled cruelty.
He slowly raised his head to look at me. His eyes were wide, filled with a mixture of disbelief, humiliation, and a sudden, desperate plea for mercy.
"Maya," Robert whispered, taking a tentative step forward, his voice turning into a pathetic, wheedling whine. "Maya, honey... please. You know how things get. We were just... we were stressed! The move, the estate, everything is so overwhelming. Surely you aren't going to throw your own family out into the street over a technicality?"
I stared at him—at the man who had promised to help care for Grandpa, only to vanish when the work got hard. At the man who watched his daughter get thrown out into the freezing rain without a second thought. At the man who told me I was nothing more than a tenant who had outlived her usefulness.
"When the roof leaked over Grandpa’s bedroom," I said softly, stepping closer to him, "you told me there wasn't enough money. When I sold my car to pay for the repairs, you didn't even ask how I would get around. When I spent four years bathing him, feeding him, and watching him die inch by inch, you called it a choice."
"Maya, please," Eleanor chimed in, her tone shifting abruptly from screeching fury to a sickening, sugary sweetness. "We raised you! We gave you a roof over your head! Family is family, darling. We can share this place. You can have the master suite, and Chloe and I can help you manage the estate finances. We can be partners!"
I looked at my mother—the woman who hadn't visited Grandpa on a Tuesday in over two years, yet stood ready to pop champagne bottles the second his heart stopped beating.
"You told Mr. Sterling the house belonged to you," I said calmly. "You told me my time here was over. And you locked the door."
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I turned my gaze back to Mr. Sterling. "What is the timeline for vacating the property, Mr. Sterling?"
"Under the terms of the forfeiture clause," the lawyer replied crisply, "unauthorized occupants have precisely twenty-four hours to remove their personal belongings from Cedar Hill. After that, local law enforcement will enforce a formal trespassing order."
