“Let’s give them thirty minutes to pack their bags first,” I said smoothly. “After that, trespassers can deal with the county sheriff.”
I tapped the screen, cutting the call, and slid the phone back into my pocket.
The kitchen was dead silent. The only sound was the refrigerator’s rhythmic hum and the slow drip of the kitchen faucet.
Evan stared at me, his smile faltering for a fraction of a second before he forced it back onto his face, though it now looked tight, strained at the edges. He let out a loud, theatrical laugh, clapping his hands together once.
“Oh, that was brilliant,” Evan sneered, standing up from the table. “Really. What was that? A pretend phone call to your lawyer? You think you can scare us with big words like Bluebird protocol? What is this, a Tom Clancy novel? You don't have that kind of power, Margaret. I am the senior regional director of Hartwell Dining. My name is on the operational contracts!”
“Your name is on the operational contracts as an at-will employee, Evan,” I said, my voice dropping an octave, carrying the terrifying, ice-cold weight of absolute authority. “Not an owner. Not a trustee. An employee. And effective approximately twelve seconds ago, your employment has been terminated with cause.”
Gloria stood up beside her son, her face flushing a deep, mottled crimson. “How dare you! You unstable old woman! Evan, call security! Have her removed from the house!”
“Security?” I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “Gloria, look around you. Whose security system do you think you’re relying on? Whose trust pays the monthly monitoring bills?”
Emily finally moved. She turned away from the sink, wiping her trembling hands on a dish towel, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and dawning, desperate hope. She took two steps toward me, her voice shaking.
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Read on—the next chapter will change everything.
Don't miss the next chapter—it changes everything.
The story continues with a chapter that changes everything.