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“You have forty-eight hours to leave my property,” I said softly. “If you are not gone by Wednesday morning, the county sheriff will remove you.”
Her entire world collapsed.
The grand family estate she had used as proof of superiority no longer belonged to her. The name she had wielded like a weapon could not save her. Her money was gone. Her son was ruined. Her kingdom had become paperwork.
Her knees gave out, and she slid from the chair onto the carpet, clutching the foreclosure deed like it had burned her.
Nathan stared at his mother, then looked at me.
“Elise—”
He stopped himself, as if even he knew the wrong name had almost slipped out of desperation.
“Mara,” he whispered. “Please. We have nothing. Where are we supposed to go?”
I stood and buttoned my blazer.
I looked down at the two people who had treated me like a disposable accessory until they needed rescue.
I felt no pity.
“You wanted Brooke to sit with the family,” I said. “Now you can all be homeless together.”
Then I turned and walked out.
Six months later, winter had settled over Chicago, and the difference between our lives felt almost poetic.
For the Pierce family, the fall had been total.
Nathan sat in a sterile federal courtroom wearing an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs. The expensive tuxedos, the arrogance, the charm, the entitlement—all of it was gone. His public defender had no real defense against the financial evidence I had provided. He stared blankly at the judge while awaiting sentencing for wire fraud and embezzlement.
Brooke had secured immunity by testifying against him.
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