Chapter 10 - The Eviction of Pride
The silence that settled over Villa Mariposa as the last civilian car sped away was heavier than an ocean fog.
Greg sat on the bottom stone step, his head between his knees, weeping softly as the NCIS agents stood over him. Olivia was collapsed on an outdoor sofa, her emerald silk dress stained with spilled champagne, staring blankly at the marble tiles she had planned to tear out.
Harold stood alone in the center of the courtyard. He looked at me, his eyes bloodshot, his hands twitching at his sides.
"Rebecca..." Harold’s voice had lost every trace of its booming arrogance. It was cracked, pathetic, begging. "You’ve made your point. You showed everyone that you’re in command. But we’re your family. Where are we supposed to go? Where is Olivia supposed to take her children tonight?"
"The same place you expected me to go on Friday night when you threw my duffel bag into the mud, Harold," I answered, stepping toward him until I was standing inches away, exactly as he had stood over me two days ago. "Except I had my honor, my career, and my self-respect. You have nothing."
Eleanor Price stepped up, handing Harold a final document.
"As of eight o'clock this morning, Harold, the forfeiture clause in Margaret’s 1994 Maritime Heritage Trust was officially certified. Your lifetime stipend has been permanently revoked. The lease on your penthouse in downtown San Diego has been terminated for breach of character clauses. By tomorrow morning, your bank accounts will reflect a balance of zero dollars."
Harold looked at the paper, his hands trembling so hard the paper rattled like dry leaves. "No... Margaret wouldn't do this to me... Margaret loved me!"
"My mother knew exactly what you were, Harold," I said coldly. "She tolerated you while she was alive to protect me. But she built a wall of steel around this home so that the day you tried to destroy me would be the day you destroyed yourself."
Marshal Keller stepped between Harold and me. "Mr. Vance, Mrs. Vance, you have five minutes to take your personal identification and leave this property on foot. Your vehicles have been impounded pending the asset forfeiture hearing."
"On foot?" Evelyn shrieked, clutching her designer purse to her chest. "It’s four miles to the main highway! I have high heels on!"
"Then take them off," Marshal Keller said without an ounce of sympathy.
Olivia looked up at me, her eyes filled with bitter, venomous tears. "I hate you, Rebecca. I have always hated you. You think you’re so pure and noble with your uniform and your medals! You ruined our lives!"
I looked down at my half-sister. For years, I had made excuses for her. I had sent her money, paid her debts, and defended her against those who called her spoiled and useless.
"I didn't ruin your life, Olivia," I said softly. "I merely stopped funding your illusions. You wanted this house because you thought it would make you important. But a house is just stone and glass. The honor that built it belongs to me. Now get off my property."
Two agents escorted Greg down the driveway toward a waiting federal transport vehicle. Harold, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed in absolute defeat, slowly began the long walk down the private road, his expensive shoes crunching on the gravel. Evelyn followed behind him, stumbling as she kicked off her high heels and walked barefoot onto the asphalt.
Olivia lingered for a single second at the iron gate, glaring back at me with unbridled malice, before turning to follow her ruined parents into the encroaching darkness.
Captain Miller walked up beside me, watching the pathetic procession disappear around the coastal bend.
"Area secured, Commander," Miller said quietly. "The locks have been re-keyed, the digital access codes have been purged, and a permanent naval security detachment will monitor the perimeter until your deployment leave concludes."
"Thank you, Captain," I said, exhaling a breath I felt like I had been holding for sixteen years.
May you like
I turned and walked up the stone steps of Villa Mariposa. The house was quiet now. The stolen champagne, the smashed pine branches, the cigar smoke—all of it would be cleaned. The sanctuary had been defended.
Or so I believed.
