Chapter 6 - Brandon's Counterattack
“Open the door, Gwen!” Brandon screamed, his voice cracking into a raw shriek that caused the elderly neighbor across the street to step out onto her porch with gardening shears in hand. “This is my house! You cannot lock me out of my own house!”
Gwen unlocked the small decorative mail slot in the heavy door and spoke through the brass opening.
“Brandon, this house was deeded to me by my grandmother four years before I met you. Your name is not on the title, the deed, or the homeowner’s insurance policy. You are trespassing.”
Brandon leaned down, his bloodshot eyes peering through the mail slot. Sweat dripped from the tip of his nose. “Gwen, please. Listen to me. Arthur fired me. He didn't just suspend me—he fired me! He said the firm is reviewing three years of my expense accounts! If they find irregularities, they’re going to refer it to the district attorney!”
“Then I suggest you call a good criminal defense lawyer,” Gwen replied evenly.
“I don’t have money for a lawyer!” Brandon shouted, slamming his palm against the wood. “You know that! Every dime I made went into our family lifestyle! I gave you everything!”
“You gave me two hundred dollars for your mother’s seventieth birthday, Brandon. That was the last check you will ever write me.”
“You set me up!” Brandon’s rage flared again, his teeth grinding audibly. “You planned this! You knew Arthur was coming! You intentionally ruined my career because you’re a jealous, vindictive bitch who couldn't stand that my family has social standing!”
“Your social standing was built on my credit cards, Brandon. Your bags are on the porch. If you aren't off my property in five minutes, I’m calling the Glendale police. And unlike you, I have the deed in hand.”
Gwen closed and locked the brass mail slot.
Brandon stood on the porch for three long minutes, his chest heaving. He kicked one of the black trash bags, sending a designer shoe tumbling across the porch tiles. But when he saw the neighbor across the street pull out her cell phone, Brandon knew he had no leverage left.
He furiously dragged the heavy bags down the steps, shoving them into the trunk and backseat of his BMW, and sped away, the tires smoking against the curb.
An hour later, Gwen’s phone began to vibrate.
It was Heather.
*“You think you won? You think you’re smart? Mom collapsed from high blood pressure. We’re in the emergency room at Glendale Adventist right now. If anything happens to her, I will personally sue you for every penny you have. You killed our family.”*
Gwen didn't reply. She took a screenshot of the message and emailed it directly to Diane Sterling’s assistant.
Ten minutes later, another message arrived, this time from Rosalind’s number:
*“Gwen. You have disgraced our name. But Brandon is willing to forgive you if you issue a public apology to the Duponts and tell Arthur Vance you fabricated those receipts to hurt Brandon during a marital fight. If you do this, Brandon will come home and we can put this behind us. Family forgives. Don't throw away eight years of marriage over pride.”*
Gwen stared at the screen, a quiet, disbelieving laugh escaping her lips.
Even now, sitting in a hospital room with their lies exposed and their lives in tatters, the Vance family still believed they were offering her a favor. They still believed she was desperate for their approval.
Gwen tapped her screen, typed a single sentence, and hit send:
*“The instant noodles were chicken flavored. Eat up.”*
May you like
Then, she blocked every single one of their numbers.
***
