Chapter 3: The 24-Hour Countdown
Suddenly, Jared's smartphone began to buzz violently on the wooden table. The screen lit up with the caller ID of his real estate attorney.
Jared frowned, reaching for the phone, but Beatrice gently placed her hand over his.
"Let it ring," Beatrice said, her voice dropping into a register of pure, icy triumph. "They just found out I sold that house this morning... and they have 24 hours to get out."
Jared’s face instantly drained of all color. He looked from his buzzing phone to the "SOLD" sign in the yard, his hands beginning to tremble. "What... what do you mean you sold it? You can't sell this house! It’s my house!"
"This house was never yours, Jared," Beatrice explained, her tone clinical and detached. "Your father and I structured the family trust twenty years ago. The deed was never in the estate's name; it was held by a private holding company of which I am the sole, absolute director. I paid off the mortgage decade ago. You haven't paid a single dime to live here—I merely let you occupy the guest wing because I hoped you would grow into a decent man."
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Tiffany gasped, her matcha latte slipping from her hand and shattering on the stone patio, splashing green liquid across her expensive sneakers. She looked up at Beatrice, her arrogant facade breaking into pure, suffocating panic. "Beatrice, no! You can't do this! Our furniture, our entire lives are in this house! We have a dinner party scheduled for Friday!"
"Then I suggest you start packing," Beatrice rose from her chair, looking down at the two vultures with utter disgust. "The new owner is an institutional investment fund. They purchased the property for cash, closed in escrow this morning, and their moving crews will arrive at precisely 9:00 AM tomorrow. Any personal property left on the premises will be legally discarded as abandoned junk."
