Chapter 8 - Locking the Gates
"Change every single tumbler," I instructed the technician, a burly man named Marcus who had arrived with a complete set of digital commercial-grade keyless locks. "The front door, the side entrance, the garage keypad, and the French doors to the patio."
"You got it, ma'am," Marcus nodded, already unholstering his drill. "Any interior doors?"
"The master bedroom and the home office," I said firmly. "I want fingerprint access only on those two. Nobody enters without my biometric scan."
While Marcus worked, I sat at the kitchen island with my laptop. My hands were perfectly steady now. The adrenaline had burned off, leaving behind the focused, methodical mindset that had built my company from a college-dorm idea into an eight-figure enterprise.
First, I opened my personal banking portal.
I removed Scott as an authorized user from my primary accounts. I canceled the secondary platinum card he kept in his wallet for 'emergencies.' I changed the master login credentials for our shared streaming services, the home utilities, and the car insurance policies.
Next, I sent a formal notice to First Horizon Escrow: *Immediate cancellation of unauthorized HELOC application #4492. Notice of fraudulent signature attached with notarized affidavit of identity theft.*
Finally, I drafted an email to my corporate attorney, Arthur Vance—who also happened to be my uncle.
*Subject: Immediate Dissolution of Marriage & Emergency Injunction*
*Attachment: nest_cam_assault_footage.mp4, fraudulent_heloc_docs.pdf*
*Arthur,*
*Scott’s mother assaulted me in the kitchen forty minutes ago. Scott attempted to forge my signature for a $50k credit line against the house. They are off the property. I need an emergency protective order filed first thing Monday morning, accompanied by a petition for divorce with zero spousal support based on the prenuptial agreement.*
Arthur’s reply arrived in less than ninety seconds:
*Filing prepared. Do not allow him back on the premises without police escort. I’ll see you at my office at 8:00 AM sharp. Be safe, Allison. You should have done this two years ago.*
I closed the laptop with a quiet click.
Marcus knocked gently on the kitchen archway. "All done, Ms. Vance. Master codes are set, biometric locks are active, and the garage door frequency has been completely reset. His remotes won't work anymore."
"Thank you, Marcus," I said, handing him his payment with a generous tip.
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When the locksmith drove away and the perimeter lights flooded the lawn in bright white LED, I walked to the kitchen island, picked up a glass of cold water, and stood in the silent house.
It was over. Or so I thought.
