Chapter 8 - Alice’s Fall from Grace
Alice Vance had always been a woman of high society,
a woman who looked down on me from the very day Victor introduced us,
calling me too plain,
too ordinary,
not good enough for her brilliant son.
She had lived in a sprawling,
historic colonial home,
filled with antique furniture,
expensive oil paintings,
and a false sense of superiority that she wore like a crown.
She had fully supported Victor's affair,
she had welcomed Melissa into her home with open arms,
and she had smiled to my face while secretly plotting my downfall behind my back.
But Alice never bothered to read the fine print of the mortgage documents she had signed a decade ago,
the documents where I had quietly acquired the deed through my holding company.
It was pouring rain when I arrived at her estate,
the sky a dark,
bruised purple,
matching the absolute devastation I was about to unleash upon her.
A moving truck was already parked in the driveway,
a massive,
ugly yellow box truck that clashed horribly with the elegant landscaping.
Alice stood on the front porch,
clutching a designer umbrella,
shrieking at the burly movers who were carrying out her precious antique chairs,
her expensive Persian rugs,
and tossing them carelessly into the back of the truck.
"Be careful!" she shrieked,
her voice hoarse from crying,
her perfectly styled grey hair ruined by the wind and rain.
"Those are priceless family heirlooms,
you clumsy idiots,
put them down immediately!"
I stepped out of my car,
holding a sleek black umbrella,
walking up the stone pathway with slow,
measured steps,
letting her see me clearly.
Alice froze,
her face contorting with rage,
her hands shaking so hard she nearly dropped her umbrella.
"You did this!" she screamed,
pointing a crooked,
wrinkled finger at me.
"You stole my home,
you evil,
spiteful witch,
you are throwing an old woman out into the street!"
I stopped at the bottom of the porch stairs,
looking up at her,
feeling absolutely nothing but a cold,
clinical satisfaction.
"You threw yourself out,
Alice," I replied calmly,
my voice carrying easily over the sound of the pouring rain.
"When you encouraged your son to betray his marriage,
when you welcomed that parasite into this very house for Sunday dinners,
you signed your own eviction notice."
I signaled to one of the movers,
a large man holding a box of her expensive crystal glasses.
"Don't worry about being gentle with that box,
gentlemen," I instructed loudly.
"It's all going to a cheap storage unit in the worst part of town,
and she can't afford to pay the first month's rent anyway."
Alice gasped,
clutching her pearls,
a dramatic gesture she had perfected over decades of manipulation.
"Where am I supposed to go?" she cried,
finally breaking down,
the arrogant facade crumbling to reveal a terrified,
helpless old woman.
"I have no money,
Victor was paying all my bills,
I don't have anywhere to sleep tonight!"
I reached into my pocket,
pulling out a small,
greasy piece of paper,
and tossed it onto the wet porch,
letting the rain soak into it instantly.
"That is the address to a roach-infested motel on the highway," I told her,
my eyes devoid of any pity.
"I paid for exactly three nights,
Alice."
I turned around,
walking back toward my warm,
waiting car.
"After that,
I suggest you ask your beloved new grandson for a loan,
if you can find him."
I got into the car,
closing the door,
leaving her standing in the rain,
May you like
surrounded by boxes,
watching her luxurious life wash down the storm drain.
