Chapter 4 - The Poisoned In-Laws Arrive to Demand an Apology
Less than forty-five minutes later, Rowan’s BMW screeched to a halt in front of the manicured driveway of our four-bedroom home, followed closely by Selina’s sleek white Mercedes SUV.
Out of the SUV stepped Selina, wrapped in a floor-length fur coat despite the mild spring weather, her face painted in an elaborate mask of faux-contrition. Behind her trotted Chloe, chewing gum aggressively, holding a gaudy bouquet of supermarket lilies and wearing oversized sunglasses.
"Rowan, straighten your tie," Selina commanded, adjusting the collar of her coat as she marched up the stone walkway. "Look contrite. Look like a devoted husband who made an innocent mistake. Phoebe has always been a soft touch. One tear from you, and she’ll fold like a cheap deck of cards."
"Mom, I'm telling you, this isn't the same Phoebe," Rowan whispered nervously, glancing around at the quiet neighborhood.
"Nonsense," Selina scoffed, marching up to the porch and banging loudly on the mahogany front door. "Phoebe! Darling! Open the door! It's your family! We came the moment we heard the wonderful news!"
Inside the house, I was sitting in the study with my father and Marcus Vance, Sterling Global Capital’s chief legal counsel, reviewing the preliminary injunction papers.
The security monitor on my desk flickered to life, showing crystal-clear 4K footage of the three of them standing on the front porch.
Marcus, a sharp-featured man with silver temples and thirty years of ruthless litigation experience, looked up over the rim of his reading glasses. "Would you like me to have the local precinct dispatch two patrol cars, Miss Sterling? We have the emergency restraining order ready for electronic signature."
"Not yet, Marcus," I said calmly, leaning back in my leather chair. "Let's see how deep a grave Selina is willing to dig for herself on high-definition video."
I pressed the intercom button on the wall console. "Can I help you, Selina?"
Selina immediately leaned into the camera, her face shifting into an exaggerated expression of maternal warmth. "Phoebe, sweetheart! Open up! We were so horrified to hear about the miscommunication at the hospital! Rowan was simply beside himself with worry! We brought gifts for our darling little grandson, and we want to put this silly little spat behind us!"
"A miscommunication?" I asked, my voice echoing clearly through the porch speakers. "Is that what you call Rowan telling me to 'handle it myself' and 'call an Uber' while I was thirty-eight weeks pregnant and bleeding in the lobby?"
Chloe chimed in, rolling her eyes behind her sunglasses. "Ugh, Phoebe, get over it! Mom turned sixty! It was a big deal! You can drop a baby any day of the week, but a sixtieth birthday only happens once! Stop being such a dramatic narcissist and let us see the baby. We’re his aunts and grandmothers!"
"Chloe," my father’s deep voice boomed through the intercom, instantly silencing her. "Every word spoken on that porch is being recorded and timestamped on a secure server. In forty-eight hours, the New York State Department of Taxation will receive an anonymous audit request regarding the three hundred and forty thousand dollars of undeclared cash flow moving through your boutique in Soho."
Chloe gasped, dropping the bouquet of lilies onto the welcome mat as if they had caught fire. "What?! How do you know about that?!"
Selina pushed Chloe aside, her fake smile dropping instantly to reveal the venomous sneer beneath. She pounded her fist against the oak door.
"Listen to me, Gideon Sterling!" Selina shrieked, dropping all pretense of gentility. "You think you can intimidate us because you have money? Rowan is that child's legal father! He has a fifty percent claim on that baby and a fifty percent claim on everything Phoebe earned during this marriage! We know the law! You will open this door, or I will call every tabloid in Manhattan and tell them how the great Gideon Sterling hides his secret grandson from his legitimate family!"
At that moment, the electronic iron security gates at the end of the driveway slowly swung open.
Three black Cadillac Escalades rolled silently up the driveway, blocking Rowan's BMW and Selina's Mercedes completely from behind. Eight burly men wearing dark suits and security badges stepped out, led by Captain Miller, the retired chief of state police who managed Sterling Global’s private security.
Selina spun around, her voice catching in her throat. "What is this? Who are you people?"
Captain Miller walked calmly up the porch steps, holding a laminated legal document in his gloved hand. He handed it directly to Rowan.
"Mr. Rowan Carter, Mrs. Selina Carter, Miss Chloe Carter," Captain Miller announced in a dry, booming voice. "You are officially served with an emergency temporary restraining order issued by the New York State Supreme Court. You are required to vacate this perimeter immediately and remain at least five hundred yards away from Phoebe Sterling Vance and the minor child Leo Vance."
"This is outrageous!" Selina screamed, waving her arms wildly. "This is our house! Rowan pays the mortgage!"
"Actually, Mrs. Carter," Captain Miller replied smoothly, tapping a second document. "The deed and mortgage of this property are held exclusively by the Sterling Family Trust, which purchased the title outright four years ago. Mr. Carter was merely an unlisted occupant with zero equity."
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Rowan’s knees finally gave out, and he collapsed onto the porch steps, burying his face in his trembling hands.
"Now," Captain Miller said, gesturing toward the waiting security detail. "You have sixty seconds to return to your vehicles and leave the premises, or my officers will place you under citizen's arrest for criminal trespass and terroristic threats. Your time starts now."
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