Chapter 7 - The Eviction of Ghosts
At two o'clock on Thursday afternoon, I returned to the Fifth Avenue penthouse.
I did not go alone.
I was accompanied by Noah Sterling, Eleanor Vance, two uniformed private security officers, and a certified locksmith.
When the elevator opened directly into the penthouse foyer, the apartment smelled of stale bourbon and cold ashes. Julian was sitting on the white velvet sofa in the grand salon, still wearing the clothes from the day before, his shirt unbuttoned, an empty bottle of Macallan resting on the floor between his feet.
He looked up as the doors opened. His eyes were bloodshot, his face covered in dark stubble.
"What is this?" Julian slurred, trying to stand up, his balance wavering before he caught himself against the back of the sofa. "What the hell is this, Harper?"
"This is the execution of a writ of exclusive occupancy," Eleanor Vance announced, stepping forward with a crisp white document bearing the seal of the New York State Supreme Court. "As of noon today, Justice Albright granted Mrs. Whitaker exclusive, unhindered possession of the marital residence pending the outcome of the divorce proceedings."
Julian let out a wild, barking laugh. "Exclusive possession? This is my apartment! My grandfather bought this floor in nineteen-fifty!"
"And your grandfather transferred title to the Van Der Bilt-Whitaker Joint Trust upon your marriage," Eleanor said mercilessly. "A trust from which you have been formally suspended due to active criminal malfeasance."
Julian ignored Eleanor and stumbled toward me, his hands outstretched. "Harper... baby, look at me. Please. This has gone too far. We can fix this. I sent Sloane away! I fired her! I told her if she ever came near you again, I’d kill her!"
"You didn't fire her, Julian," I said, stepping backward as Noah Sterling smoothly stepped between us, his broad chest blocking Julian’s path. "She went to the District Attorney two hours ago. She traded her files for federal immunity."
Julian stopped dead in his tracks. The color drained from his face until he looked like a corpse.
May you like
"What?" he whispered. "No. Sloane wouldn't... she doesn't have the files."
"She has everything, Julian," Noah Sterling said quietly. "The handwritten notes. The wire instructions. The text messages where you told her to forge Harper
