Chapter 4 - THE FORECLOSURE NOTICE
Three weeks later.
I stood near the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of my new penthouse apartment overlooking the Philadelphia skyline.
My ribs were healing well, though I still had a faint, pale scar above my left eyebrow. I wore a tailored cream cashmere sweater, dark trousers, and a simple gold watch. I looked like a woman who owned her future—because I did.
My software, now officially named PharmGuard, was being rolled out across forty major hospital networks across the East Coast.
Sitting across from me at my marble kitchen island was Marcus Sterling, the thirty-eight-year-old CEO of Nexus Healthcare. He was brilliant, quiet, and possessed an intense focus that I deeply respected.
“Your sister’s preliminary hearing is scheduled for Thursday,” Marcus said, taking a sip of black coffee. “Her lawyer tried to negotiate a plea bargain for simple misdemeanor assault.”
“And what did Harrison say?” I asked, leaning against the counter.
“Harrison told them that if she doesn't plead guilty to felony assault with a minimum of eighteen months in state custody, we will civilly sue your parents for personal injury, demanding five million dollars in damages.”
I smiled faintly. “Harrison is ruthless.”
“Harrison protects our assets,” Marcus corrected, looking at me with warm grey eyes. “And right now, Rowena, you are the most valuable asset this company has.”
My phone buzzed on the counter.
It was an alert from an automated public records monitoring service I had hired two weeks earlier.
I tapped the screen.
PROPERTY ALERT: 1428 OAKWOOD DRIVE, BRYN MAWR, PA.DEFAULT NOTICE FILED BY FIRST NATIONAL BANK.OUTSTANDING BALANCE: $412,000.00.AUCTION DATE: 14 DAYS.
I sat down, staring at the screen.
My father’s precious Bryn Mawr estate—the four-bedroom suburban mansion he bragged about at every cocktail party—was officially entering foreclosure.
They hadn't paid their mortgage in four months. They had been surviving by shuffling credit card balances and waiting for Vesper to marry Darien.
Suddenly, my intercom chimed.
My private building concierge spoke through the speaker: “Miss Vance, there is a gentleman named Evander Vance in the lobby. He is demanding to see you. He says it’s a matter of life and death.”
I looked at Marcus. He raised an eyebrow. “Want me to have security escort him off the property?”
“No,” I said, feeling a cold, calm strength settle into my bones. “Send him up.”
Five minutes later, my father stepped out of the private elevator directly into my penthouse foyer.
He didn't look like the proud corporate manager who tossed twenty-dollar gift cards at me on my birthday.
His suit was wrinkled. His hair was messy, and there were dark, sunken bags beneath his eyes. He looked ten years older.
He stopped in the middle of my open-concept living room, looking around at the Italian leather furniture, the abstract artwork, and the floor-to-ceiling views of the city.
“Rowena...” Evander choked out, his voice hoarse.
“Hello, Dad,” I said smoothly, remaining standing near the island. Marcus stood three feet behind me, his arms crossed, his presence heavy and imposing.
Evander took a step forward, his hands trembling. “Rowena, you have to help us. The bank... the bank filed a foreclosure notice on the house today.”
“I know,” I replied. “I received the public alert five minutes ago.”
“They're going to auction our home in two weeks!” Evander pleaded, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “Your mother is having a nervous breakdown! Vesper is facing prison time! Darien officially broke off the engagement yesterday and demanded his grandmother's ring back!”
“Sounds like a difficult month for Vesper,” I said, taking a sip of my tea.
“Rowena, please!” Evander dropped to his knees right there on my hardwood floor, holding his hands out in desperation. “You have millions now! Two point five million dollars! Four hundred thousand dollars is nothing to you! Just pay off the mortgage! Save our home!”
I walked slowly over to where my father was kneeling.
I looked down at him—the man who had watched me bleed on his marble floor and complained about the mess.
“Do you remember my sixteenth birthday, Dad?” I asked softly.
Evander blinked, confused. “What? What does that have to do with anything?!”
“I asked for a set of drawing pencils,” I continued. “You threw a twenty-dollar gift card onto the counter and told me not to spend it all at once while you bought Vesper a brand-new Audi.”
“Rowena, that was years ago!”
“And do you remember three weeks ago?” I leaned down, bringing my face close to his. “When I was lying at the bottom of your stairs with broken ribs, unable to breathe? You looked at my blood on your tile and said, 'Look what you've done to the floor.'”
Evander swallowed hard, his face draining of all color.
“I offered to pay utilities,” I whispered. “I offered to contribute. You called me a freeloader and told me to get out.”
I stood up straight and looked down at him with absolute indifference.
“I’m taking your advice, Dad. I’m spending my money on myself.”
“Rowena! You can't let your parents be thrown into the street!” Evander wept.
“I’m not throwing you into the street,” I said, turning my back on him. “The bank is. Marcus, please show him to the elevator.”
May you like
Marcus stepped forward, gripping Evander’s shoulder with an iron grip and pulling him to his feet. “Time to go, Mr. Vance.”
As the elevator doors closed on my father’s screaming, sobbing face, I walked back to the window, feeling no guilt—only the clean, crisp sensation of freedom.
