Chapter 3 - The Empty CounterBack at the Mercer estate, the clock ticked toward 12:30 PM.
Linda Mercer stood in the middle of her pristine kitchen, her chest heaving as she checked her gold wrist watch for the tenth time. The countertops were completely bare. The gas stove was cold. The only thing sitting on the island was the handwritten list of sixty dishes, fluttering slightly in the draft from the hallway.
Outside, luxury sedans were already pulling up the long, brick driveway.
Valet drivers were parking cars, and the first waves of wealthy guests were strolling up the front steps carrying polished gift boxes wrapped in silver bow ties.
"Derek!" Linda screamed toward the living room. "Where is that girl?! It's almost one o'clock! Guests are walking through the front door!"
Derek stumbled into the kitchen, a fresh glass of scotch in his hand. His face was flushed red, his tie slightly loosened.
"Relax, Mom," Derek grunted, pulling out his phone. "She's probably stuck in traffic with all those groceries. I'll call her right now."
He dialed my number.
The phone rang four times, then went straight to voicemail.
“Hi, you’ve reached Chloe. I’m currently unavailable or making life improvements. Leave a message.”
Derek cursed under his breath, dialing again. Straight to voicemail.
"She's not answering," Derek growled, his jaw tightening.
"She is doing this on purpose!" Linda shrieked, her voice reaching a hysterical pitch that caused two early-arriving guests in the foyer to pause and look toward the kitchen. "She wants to embarrass me! She wants my friends to see that I have no food at my own sixtieth birthday party!"
"I'll track her car," Derek said, his thumb furiously tapping on his phone screen.
Six months ago, Derek had installed a stealth GPS tracker on my sedan, believing he was clever and keeping tabs on my whereabouts. He pulled up the locator app, expecting to see my vehicle parked at the local Whole Foods market two miles away.
Instead, the pulsing blue dot showed my car parked three miles away—in the private parking lot of the Oakridge Police Department.
Derek stared at the screen, the blood draining from his face so fast he nearly dropped his whiskey glass.
"Derek?" Linda demanded, grabbing his sleeve. "Where is she? Is she at the store?"
"Mom..." Derek stammered, his voice suddenly sounding thin and hollow. "Her car is at the police station."
Before Linda could process the statement, the front doorbell rang loudly.
"Oh, thank goodness, she must have taken a taxi!" Linda declared, brushing past Derek toward the foyer. "I am going to make sure she spends the rest of her life paying for this disrespect!"
Linda threw the massive double front doors open, a sharp scowl locked onto her face, ready to unleash a tirade of verbal abuse.
Standing on the porch were not grocery bags, nor a contrite daughter-in-law.
Standing on the porch were two broad-shouldered County Sheriff’s deputies in full uniform, accompanied by a process server holding a thick stack of blue-bound legal documents.
"Linda Mercer?" the lead deputy asked, his voice echoing through the grand entryway.
Linda blinked, her sneer freezing in place. "Yes... can I help you officer? We're hosting a private celebration—"
"And Derek Mercer?" the deputy added, looking past her toward Derek, who was standing frozen near the hallway.
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The process server stepped forward, handing two thick legal packets directly into Linda’s polished hands, then handing a second set to Derek.
"You’ve both been formally served," the process server stated calmly. "Notice of Divorce, Ex Parte Restraining Order, and an Emergency Notice to Vacate these premises within two hours."
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