Chapter 5 - The Eviction Notice
When I returned to the house on H Avenue, the Coronado police cruiser was already parked at the curb, its cruiser lights off, the officer waiting patiently in the driver’s seat. Officer Davis was a veteran himself, his patrol cap resting on the dashboard. He stepped out and gave me a curt nod.
"Commander Vance?"
"Officer Davis. Thank you for coming."
"Base liaison called it in. Civil standby for property retrieval and dispute mitigation. Let's keep it calm, ma'am."
"Calm is my standard operating procedure," I told him.
We walked up the stone pathway together. Simon’s Mercedes was still parked in the driveway, its bumper mere inches from Jonah’s bicycle, which was lying discarded in the grass.
I unlocked the front door. The house was dead quiet.
In the living room, Larkin Reed was sitting on my sofa.
She had dressed in a beige cashmere sweater and tailored trousers, holding a mug of coffee with both hands, looking like a tenant who had decided she owned the building. When she saw Officer Davis behind me, her coffee cup rattled against the saucer.
"What is this?" she demanded, standing up. "Simon! Simon, get down here!"
Simon came out of his ground-floor home office holding a manila folder. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes darting between Officer Davis’s badge and the red folder in my hands.
"Claire, this is ridiculous," Simon said, though his voice lacked the smug authority from three hours earlier. "Calling the police? You are creating a public spectacle on our street. Have you lost your mind?"
"Mr. Vance," Officer Davis said, stepping forward with his thumbs hooked in his duty belt. "I'm here to ensure there is no breach of the peace while Commander Vance secures her property and delivers legal notices."
"Her property?" Larkin scoffed, crossing her arms. "Simon has lived here every day while she was overseas. She doesn't even know the alarm code!"
I turned my head slowly to look at Larkin. "You have sixty seconds to pick up your purse, walk through that door, and never return. If you speak to my son, approach his school, or set foot on this property again, you will be served with a restraining order and named as a co-conspirator in a federal wire fraud indictment."
Larkin’s face drained of color. She looked at Simon. "Simon? What is she talking about?"
Simon’s jaw tightened. "She's bluffing, Larkin. She's throwing military jargon around to intimidate you."
"Apex Studio Living LLC," I said, reading the corporate registry number from the folder. "Account number ending in 8841 at Wells Fargo. Nevada registration dated March 14th. Managing Director: Larkin Reed. Fraudulent signature on the home equity line application dated May 2nd."
The living room went dead silent.
Larkin’s eyes flared wide with genuine panic. She looked at Simon with sudden, raw terror. "You told me your wife signed that! You told me she approved the startup funding!"
"Shut up, Larkin!" Simon snapped, his face turning an ugly shade of crimson.
"You forged her signature?" Larkin shrieked, dropping her purse onto the hardwood. "You told me she was giving us the seed money because she felt guilty for never being home! You idiot!"
"Officer Davis," I said quietly. "Please escort Ms. Reed from my premises."
"Gladly, Commander," the officer said, gesturing toward the front door. "Ma'am. Let's go. Right now."
Larkin didn't look at Simon again. She grabbed her purse, pushed past Officer Davis, and practically ran down the front steps, her heels clicking rapidly against the pavement.
Simon stood alone in the hallway, his face twitching with humiliation.
"You think you won something, Claire?" he spat, lowering his voice into a vicious whisper. "You think you can just come back and erase me? I took care of Jonah for four months! You don't know his teachers, his doctors, his friends. The court will see an absent mother who cares more about her uniform than her family. I will take this house, I will take his custody, and you will pay me alimony for the rest of your career."
I stepped close to him—close enough that he could see the gray flecks in my eyes, close enough that he instinctively stepped back until his shoulders hit the wall.
"You didn't take care of him, Simon," I said, my voice dropping so low it seemed to rumble in the floorboards. "You starved him. You made him sleep in his clothes. You made him fold your laundry while you bedded another woman in the room above his head. You stole his childhood, and you stole my money."
I pulled the key ring from my pocket and laid the spare house key on the side table.
"Officer Davis will wait outside while you pack one suitcase. The locks are being changed at one o'clock. If you come within one hundred yards of Jonah, I won't just call the police—I’ll have the federal marshals take you in for bank fraud."
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He stared at me, his chest heaving, stripped of his charm, his money, and his lies. For the first time in eight years, Simon Vance looked at me and saw someone he could not control.
***
