I threw the car into park and leaped out into the rain, Ethan and Maya scrambling after me. “What are you doing? Get out of my house!”
Arthur descended the steps, holding a shiny new brass key up to the gray light. “Your house? Check the original deed, Claire. David bought this property before you were married. It’s titled under the Hayes Corporate Trust. And as the head of the trust, I am reclaiming company property.”
“He was your son!” I screamed over the rain, the sheer injustice tearing at my throat. “These are his children!”
“And you,” Beatrice spat from the porch, “are a liability. You can take your brats to your sister’s cramped little apartment. You will not get a single dime of Hayes money. The locks are changed. The alarm is set to a code you don’t know.”
I stepped forward, my fists clenched, but Arthur stepped into my path, pulling a cell phone from his tailored coat.
“Take another step, Claire, and I make a phone call,” Arthur said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “You have no money. You have no home. You look unstable, hysterical, and frankly, unfit to care for minors. One call to Child Protective Services, with my lawyers backing it up, and Ethan and Maya will be in foster care by dinnertime. Is that what you want?”
My breath hitched. The rain soaked through my thin dress, chilling me to the bone. They had taken my husband, my dignity, my ring, my home, and now, they were threatening to take my children. I was entirely backed into a corner, staring into the eyes of a monster who held all the cards.
Or so he thought.
Arthur’s threat hung in the damp air, paralyzing me. Maya was sobbing quietly against my hip, hiding her face in my wet coat. Ethan was vibrating with rage, his fists balled so tightly his knuckles were white, but he stayed rooted, terrified by the mention of foster care.
“Get back in your rusted car, Claire,” Arthur sneered, pocketing the new key. “And don’t ever think about challenging us. You are outmatched.”
