Chapter 7 - The Seaport Eviction
At 4:00 PM that same afternoon, the winter sun was setting over the Boston harbor, casting long, bruised-purple shadows across the glass towers of the Seaport District.
Outside the luxury high-rise at 100 Pier 4 Boulevard, a yellow moving truck sat parked at the curb.
Camilla Price stood on the cold sidewalk, wrapped in a black trench coat, her dark hair tossed by the icy wind coming off the water. She wore dark sunglasses to hide her swollen, tear-stained eyes, her hands jammed deep into her pockets.
Beside her stood two federal marshals and David Lin, holding a clipboard.
A pair of uniformed movers were actively carrying heavy cardboard boxes out of the grand lobby doors, loading them into the back of the truck.
"That's my personal clothing!" Camilla shrieked, her voice cracking as she stepped toward one of the movers carrying a leather suitcase. "You can't take my clothes! My lawyer said personal effects were exempt!"
David Lin stepped into her path, his posture calm and immovable.
"Your personal clothing was purchased using an Aurelia corporate credit card assigned to Apex Media LLC, Miss Price," David explained, checking a line on his clipboard. "Under the terms of your cooperation agreement, all physical items valued over five hundred dollars acquired through Apex funds are subject to immediate federal asset recovery."
"This is harassment!" Camilla wept, pulling off her sunglasses to reveal the dark circles beneath her eyes. "Julian told me those cards were part of my executive compensation package! He lied to me!"
"You signed the corporate disclosures, Miss Price," David said dryly. "You knew the funds were coming from reserve holding accounts."
Just then, a sleek black town car pulled up to the curb behind the moving truck.
The rear window rolled down halfway.
I sat in the leather interior, wearing a tailored cream wool coat and a simple gold chain around my neck. I didn't get out of the car. I looked through the glass at the woman who had worn my stolen diamonds, slept in my bed, and laughed into her champagne glass while my husband shoved me into a table six nights ago.
Camilla spotted me. She froze, her hands trembling as she took a slow, hesitant step toward the town car.
"Audrey..." Camilla called out, her voice dropping into a desperate, pathetic whimper. "Audrey, please... tell them to stop. I don't have anywhere to go. My accounts are frozen. I can't even pay for a hotel room tonight..."
I looked at her—not with anger, not with vengeance, but with a profound, distant detachment.
"You told me at the Halcyon Hotel that it wasn't the right evening for a domestic scene, Camilla," I said softly, my voice carrying clearly through the open window. "I agree. It’s an evening for corporate cleanup."
"I was manipulated by him!" Camilla sobbed, pressing her hands against the car door. "Julian used me!"
"You used each other, Camilla," I replied. "Julian wanted a trophy to validate his ego, and you wanted a shortcut to a penthouse. The problem with shortcuts is that they usually end at a cliff."
I reached up and touched the window control.
"Drive," I told my chauffeur.
May you like
The black town car pulled away from the curb, leaving Camilla Price standing alone on the cold pavement in her trench coat, watching the moving truck carry away every remnant of the illusion she had spent a year building.
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