Chapter 7 - A Visitor at the Gates
By late afternoon, the heavy iron security gates at the end of our long private driveway chimed with an intercom alert.
I looked at the live security monitor on my desk.
It was Marcus Vance, Julian’s older brother, who usually stayed out of family squabbles unless there was money to be extracted.
He stood alone outside the gate, looking thoroughly perplexed and holding a greasy takeout bag.
I buzzed the gate open just enough for him to walk up the path, meeting him on the front porch before he could reach the heavy oak double doors.
“Sloan?” Marcus stared at me, his eyes darting toward the fresh burn mark still visible on my neck. “Julian called my wife from a holding cell screaming incoherently about you locking him out and calling the police. What the hell happened?”
“Your brother lost his temper and threw scalding tea in my face yesterday morning,” I said, my voice deadpan and unwavering. “Then he ordered me out of my own house. So I obliged, and the state took over from there.”
Marcus blinked, visibly reeling as he processed the gravity of the situation.
“He... he did what?”
“He assaulted me, Marcus. And then he found out that the roof over his head didn’t belong to him.”
Marcus ran a hand through his hair, looking back down the driveway toward the spot where his family’s illusion of luxury had imploded.
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“Mom has been calling everyone in the family tree claiming you staged a coup and stole her retirement plans,” he muttered, shaking his head. “She actually thought this house was part of their inheritance.”
“Tell her to start packing her bags for a cheaper zip code,” I replied coldly. “Because the audit of Julian’s personal spending over the last five years starts tomorrow morning.”
