Chapter 3 - The Eviction & The Counter-Move
The morning sun had barely cleared the spire of the Chrysler Building when Catherine stepped out of the elevator into the private vestibule of her Park Avenue duplex.
Beside her walked Daniel Brooks, his briefcase clamped beneath his arm, his expression a mixture of profound shock and reluctant awe. Flanking them were four of Dante Moretti’s security personnel, dressed in impeccably tailored suits that did little to hide the tactical holsters under their jackets.
Behind them, towering over the entire party, walked Dante himself, an espresso in hand, moving with the languid, terrifying grace of a panther entering its own territory.
“Are you certain the locks have already been bypassed?” Daniel whispered nervously, glancing back at Dante’s men.
“My team took care of the master key systems at dawn, counselor,” Dante replied smoothly without breaking stride. “Focus on your injunctions. We will handle the physical compliance.”
Catherine drew a deep breath. She reached out, placed her key into the antique brass lock of the double doors, and pushed them open.
The scene inside the grand living room was obscene.
The marble fireplace was lit. Empty champagne flutes and a half-eaten charcuterie board sat on Catherine’s grandmother’s mahogany coffee table. Allison Reed was draped across Catherine’s custom velvet sofa, wearing Catherine’s favorite cashmere robe, a cup of coffee resting lazily in her manicured hand.
Across the room, Jason was pacing near the floor-to-ceiling windows, his phone pressed to his ear, his voice buoyant and arrogant.
“—I’m telling you, Bob, the deed transfer will be finalized by noon. She’s broken. She has no resources left. By next week, the penthouse will be listed at twelve-five—”
Jason stopped mid-sentence.
His eyes found Catherine standing in the arched foyer. The phone slipped slightly from his grip.
Then his eyes traveled past her—and landed on Dante Moretti.
Jason’s face drained of every drop of color. The bruises on his neck from the previous evening were dark purple, stark against the crisp collar of his shirt. A visible shudder ran through his body.
Allison sat bolt upright on the sofa, spilling coffee across the ivory cushion. “Cat? What the hell are you doing here? Jason, who are these men? Call building security!”
“Building security will not be answering your call, Miss Reed,” Dante’s deep voice rolled through the vaulted room, silencing the space entirely. “Building security answers to the board. And as of sixty minutes ago, the Moretti Trust owns eighty-five percent of the commercial and residential shares in this cooperative.”
Allison looked at Jason in bewilderment. “Jason? What is he talking about?”
Jason couldn’t speak. His mouth opened and closed, his chest heaving as if the air in the room had suddenly turned to poison. “Y-you... you can’t be here. This is private property.”
Daniel Brooks stepped forward, clearing his throat and extracting a thick ream of documents from his leather case.
“Actually, Mr. Bennett, it is not your property,” Daniel announced with crisp legal precision. “Pursuant to the emergency petition filed in the Southern District Court at eight o'clock this morning, Judge Harrison has granted an immediate freezing order on all marital assets, an ex-parte writ of possession restoring Catherine Bennett as sole custodian of this residence, and a criminal referral for identity theft and financial fraud.”
Daniel stepped forward and slapped the court order onto the coffee table, directly beside the champagne flutes.
“Furthermore,” Daniel continued, “this is an eviction order. You have precisely fifteen minutes to vacate the premises. You may take only the clothing you arrived in. All personal effects, vehicles, luxury goods, and bank accounts are subject to the federal freeze.”
Allison gasped, clutching the cashmere robe around her chest. “This is ridiculous! Jason bought this furniture! Jason pays for this place!”
“My grandmother paid for this place in 1984, Allison,” Catherine said, stepping into the center of the living room. Her voice was icy, clear, and utterly devoid of the warmth she had once given them. “And that robe you are wearing was a birthday gift from my sister. Take it off.”
“What?” Allison’s voice rose to a shrill shriek. “Are you insane? Jason, do something!”
Jason finally found his voice, stepping toward Catherine with his hands clenched into fists. “Catherine, you listen to me! You don’t know who you’re dealing with! This man—Moretti—he’s a monster! He’s using you to get to my assets!”
Dante let out a soft, dry chuckle that froze Jason in his tracks.
Dante stepped forward, closing the distance between them with slow, measured steps. The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
“Your assets, Jason?” Dante murmured, standing just inches from Jason’s trembling frame. “You have no assets. You have debts. And unlike your wife, I do not settle debts in divorce court.”
Dante reached out, plucked Jason’s expensive silk tie between two fingers, and straightened it mockingly.
“You have twelve minutes left,” Dante said softly. “If you and your mistress are still breathing the air inside this apartment at eight-thirty, my men will throw both of you through the service elevator shaft. And trust me, Bennett... the police will not even open a file.”
Jason swallowed hard. The arrogance, the smugness, the practiced charm he had used to manipulate Catherine for over a decade collapsed into pathetic, sniveling terror.
He grabbed Allison’s arm, hauling her roughly off the couch. “Get your bag, Allison. Get your damn bag now!”
“Jason, no! My clothes are in the bedroom! My jewelry—”
“Leave it!” Jason screamed at her, his voice cracking with hysteria. “Leave it all!”
Allison looked back at Catherine, her eyes wide with betrayal, humiliation, and disbelief. She expected Catherine to show pity. She expected the soft, forgiving friend who had always offered an open door.
Catherine simply watched them, her arms crossed, her eyes like polished marble.
“Your fifteen minutes are ticking, Allison,” Catherine whispered.
Five minutes later, the heavy double doors slammed shut. The penthouse was silent once more.
May you like
Catherine stood in the middle of her living room, her breath trembling in her chest as the silence washed over her. The battle had begun—and she had just reclaimed the first piece of her soul.
***
