Chapter 4 - The 2:00 P.M. WalkthroughAt 1:55 p.m., two sleek black SUVs pulled into the circular driveway of 412 Elmcrest Lane.
I stepped out of my sedan, accompanied by Arthur Vance and two uniformed off-duty police officers I had hired to oversee the walkthrough and maintain order. Behind us were two representatives from a high-end corporate relocation firm, holding digital tablets and inspection clipboards.
As we walked up the stone steps, the front door flew open.
Eric stood in the doorway, his hair wild, his shirt wrinkled, looking like a man who hadn't slept or showered in days. Behind him, Diane was holding a cordless phone, frantically screaming into it, while Madison hovered near the stairs, sobbing loudly.
“You brought cops?!” Eric shrieked, his voice cracking as he looked at the uniformed officers. “Clara, are you out of your mind?! You brought POLICE to our home?!”
“This is not your home, Mr. Vance,” Officer Ramirez said calmly, stepping forward and placing his hand lightly on his belt. “We are here to accompany the property owner, Ms. Clara Vance, for a scheduled real estate inspection.”
“Property owner?!” Diane yelled, marching out onto the porch, pointing her finger at my face. “She’s his wife! Everything she has belongs to him! They share a bed!”
“Actually, Mrs. Vance,” Arthur said, stepping between Diane and me with an icy, professional smile. “They haven't shared a bed since you forced my client into a closet three days ago. Furthermore, pursuant to the prenuptial agreement signed by your son on April 12th, six years ago, he possesses zero legal interest in this real estate.”
Eric’s eyes went wide. “The... the prenup? That was just a formality! You told me it was just for tax protection!” he yelled at me.
“You signed it without reading it, Eric,” I said quietly, stepping past him into the foyer. “Just like you assumed I’d never enforce it.”
The two relocation agents followed us inside, immediately pulling out laser measures and taking photos of the soaring double-height ceilings and custom hardwood floors.
“Wait! Stop taking pictures!” Madison screamed, waddling toward us from the stairs, her hands clutching her belly. “I’m pregnant! You can't photograph my space! This is going to be my baby’s nursery!” She pointed toward the elegant dining room, which she had filled with half-assembled plastic cribs and boxes of baby clothes.
One of the relocation agents, a polished woman in a navy suit, paused and looked at the clutter with visible disgust.
“Is this trash going to be removed prior to closing?” the agent asked me, pencil hovering over her tablet. “Our executive client requires the home to be in pristine condition by Friday.”
“It will all be gone by Thursday evening,” I confirmed smoothly.
“FRIDAY?!” Eric roared, lunging toward Arthur Vance. Officer Ramirez instantly stepped into his path, placing a hand against Eric’s chest and forcing him back against the wall.
“Back up, sir!” Officer Ramirez commanded firmly. “Touch anyone in this room and you will be arrested for assault immediately.”
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“You can't sell this house in four days!” Eric whimpered, his anger suddenly collapsing into sheer panic as he looked around at the agents inspecting the walls. “Where are we supposed to go?! Madison can't travel! My mother has bad knees!”
“I suggest you look into extended-stay motels,” Arthur offered dryly, pulling a crisp white envelope from his coat pocket and tapping it against Eric’s chest. “Here is your formal three-day Notice to Vacate. If you, your mother, or your mistress are still on these premises at 8:00 a.m. on Friday, the Sheriff’s Department will remove you in handcuffs.”
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