“Every penny of it,” Eleanor confirmed. “Wendy’s corporate credit lines tied to that entity are currently locked down until Friday morning. Furthermore, the judge ordered Luca to vacate your marital home by six o’clock tonight so you and Fiona can return to your residence.”
“We can go home?”
“You can go home,” Eleanor said. “And Luca Vance is legally barred from coming within five hundred feet of that property. A sheriff’s deputy will be stationed outside your house at five-thirty to supervise his departure. I suggest you arrive at six-fifteen.”
“What about Wendy’s Facebook post?” I asked. “She’s defaming me to thousands of people.”
“Take screenshots of every single comment, every share, and every post Wendy and Luca have made,” Eleanor commanded. “Harold Hastings forgot one critical rule of family law: you do not try your case in the press when the presiding judge is Evelyn Martinez. Judge Martinez despises social media grandstanding. She views public smear campaigns against the other parent as prima facie evidence of parental alienation. Wendy Vance just handed us the match to light her own funeral pyre.”
At 6:15 PM, Rachel drove Fiona and me back to our neighborhood.
The cul-de-sac was lined with neighbors standing on their lawns, pretending to water their flowerbeds or check their mailboxes while staring openly at our driveway.
A marked sheriff’s cruiser sat at the curb, its amber lights flashing slowly.
As Rachel pulled her car to a stop across the street, the front door of our home opened.
Luca walked out carrying two oversized suitcases and a garment bag. His head was down, his shoulders slumped in utter defeat. Behind him, the uniformed deputy stood with his arms folded, watching Luca’s every move.
Luca shoved the bags into the trunk of his sedan. As he closed the trunk, his eyes found my car.
He stared through the windshield directly at me.
His face was pale, drawn, and filled with a mixture of shock and sheer panic. He had expected to see me broken, begging for forgiveness on Wendy’s terms. Instead, he was being evicted from his own house by a court order, his corporate accounts frozen, his mother’s money locked down.
I didn’t glare at him. I didn’t smile. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of any emotional reaction whatsoever.
I simply looked at him, completely unmovable.
Luca swallowed hard, got into his car, and backed out of the driveway, his tires screeching slightly as he sped down the street.
The deputy walked over to my window, tipped his hat, and handed me a set of keys. “House is clear, ma’am. He took his clothing and personal toiletries. Locks have been changed by the locksmith on the court’s emergency registry; here are the new keys.”
“Thank you, Deputy,” I said.
I got out of the car, unbuckled Fiona from her seat, and lifted her into my arms.
She looked at our front door, her eyes lighting up with recognition. “Mommy house! Fiona toys!”
