Chapter 10 - Eviction and Disgrace
While Daniel and Jessica were being processed into central booking at the Davidson County Sheriff's Department, thirty miles away in the quiet, upscale suburb of Brentwood, Linda Mercer was basking in what she believed to be her family's coronation.
Sitting on the plush velvet sofa in Claire’s living room, Linda was on speakerphone with her sister, sipping imported chardonnay from Claire’s crystal stemware.
"I'm telling you, Brenda, Danny is making history tonight," Linda bragged, waving her manicured hand theatrically. "He went to the gala with Jessica. Oh, you should see her! A real lady, not like that sour-faced peasant Claire. Danny bought Jessica a fourteen-thousand-dollar gown! Once he meets Arthur Vance tonight, our family will be swimming in millions. I’m already looking at winter homes in Boca Raton."
Suddenly, the front door rattled with three violent, deafening pounds.
Linda frowned, setting her wine glass down. "Hold on, Brenda. Someone's banging on the door like a common savage. Probably the delivery driver with the caviar I ordered."
Linda smoothed her silk blouse, marched to the front entryway, and yanked the heavy mahogany door open.
"What on earth is the meaning of this racket—"
Linda froze.
Standing on the porch were four uniformed sheriff’s deputies, accompanied by a locksmith and six men in blue jumpsuits carrying commercial moving boxes. Parked in the driveway, completely blocking Linda’s silver sedan, was a massive flatbed tow truck and an industrial moving van.
"Linda Mercer?" the lead deputy inquired, holding a thick stack of laminated legal documents.
"Yes, that's me," Linda sneered, crossing her arms defensively. "What is going on here? Do you know whose neighborhood this is? My son is Daniel Mercer, partner at Henderson Automotive!"
"Your son is currently in holding cell number four downtown on federal bank fraud charges," the deputy replied with brutal efficiency.
Linda’s heart skipped a violent beat. "What? What did you say? That's ridiculous! He’s at a gala with Arthur Vance!"
"Ma'am, this is an expedited emergency writ of possession and eviction signed by Chief Judge Harrison an hour ago," the deputy said, thrusting the paperwork into her trembling hands. "This property is the sole, non-marital asset of Claire Vance. You have fifteen minutes to gather your personal medications and clothing. Everything else remains inside under court order."
"Claire Vance?" Linda shrieked, the name sounding foreign and absurd. "Her name is Claire Mercer! This is my son's house! He bought this house!"
"The deed and chain of title are registered entirely under the Vance Living Trust, dated three years prior to your son's marriage," the locksmith stated, already inserting his drill into the deadbolt of the front door. "Now please step aside, ma'am."
"Get your hands off that door!" Linda screamed, lunging forward, but two deputies instantly grabbed her by the arms and escorted her down the stone steps onto the lawn. "You can't do this! This is illegal! I will call my lawyer! I will sue all of you!"
The movers pushed past her into the house, systematically tagging furniture, sealing drawers, and boxing up Daniel's expensive designer suits, golf clubs, and high-end electronics.
Across the street, neighbors began turning on their porch lights. Mrs. Jenkins, whose garden club Linda had terrorized for years, walked down to the edge of her lawn, holding her phone up to record the entire spectacle.
"Stop looking at me, you vultures!" Linda shrieked at the neighbors, tears of fury streaking her heavy makeup.
Just then, the flatbed tow truck winched the silver sports car Daniel had bought with Claire's credit card onto its ramp, the metal chains clanking loudly in the cool night air.
"Where am I supposed to go?" Linda wept, clinging to a single plastic trash bag containing her coat and a pair of slippers that the deputies had handed her. "My purse! My credit cards!"
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"All accounts associated with Daniel Mercer and Claire Mercer have been frozen by federal order," the deputy said coldly. "There’s a bus stop at the corner of Franklin Road. We suggest you walk."
As the heavy oak front door of the mansion clicked shut with brand-new electronic deadbolts, Linda stood on the curb in the dark, clutching her trash bag, watching the flashing red and blue lights disappear into the night.
