PART 6: The Desperate Search

PART 6: The Desperate Search

Desperate phone calls expose hidden financial truths.

By Wednesday afternoon, Eric had finally managed to reach my office line in London by pretending to be an international client needing urgent compliance advice.

My executive assistant, recognizing the name from my explicit do-not-disturb list, patched him through to my desk.

"Elena?!" Eric’s voice sounded frantic, ragged, and completely stripped of its usual arrogant swagger. "What the hell is going on?! The police wouldn't let us back into the house! Mom and Madison are sitting in a hotel lobby with all their luggage!"

I leaned back in my ergonomic leather chair, taking a slow sip of my morning espresso while looking out over the London skyline.

"Hello, Eric," I said, my voice smooth and professional. "Did you enjoy the eviction notice?"

"Have you lost your mind?!" Eric roared, his voice cracking with panic. "You sold our home?! Without telling me?! You threw my pregnant sister and my mother onto the street!"

"It wasn't our home, Eric," I corrected him calmly. "It was my home. Purchased with my money, deeded in my name, and protected by the prenup you were too lazy to read before signing."

There was a long, suffocating silence on the other end of the line.

"Elena... please," Eric whispered, his tone abruptly shifting from aggressive fury to pathetic pleading. "We can fix this. Come back home. Let’s talk about this like adults. Mom didn't mean to—"

"Save your breath, Eric," I interrupted coldly. "I'm not coming back."

"Then where are we supposed to live?! My salary alone can't afford a rental in this market, especially not with Madison moving in!"

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"That sounds like a family problem," I replied. "Family doesn't need permission to figure it out, remember?"

And with that, I hung up the phone and permanently severed the extension.