Chapter 5 - The Legal EvictionBy 2:00 p.m. that afternoon, the rain had begun to fall over Queens, a cold, gray drizzle that turned the gutters into gray rivers. Inside the apartment, Brenda was sitting on the velvet sofa, her long, manicured nails scrolling through a luxury furniture website. She had already selected a five-thousand-dollar Italian leather couch to replace the old, traditional sofa that Mercedes had bought twenty years ago.
"Javi is taking forever at the office," she complained out loud to her reflection in her phone screen. "He was supposed to bring the corporate card back so we could order the new sound system."
Suddenly, the heavy wooden front door of the apartment rattled. The sound of a heavy metal key turning in the lock echoed through the quiet hallway.
Brenda stood up, a bright, greedy smile on her face. "Finally! Baby, did you get the—"
The door swung open, but it wasn't Javier who stepped through the frame.
It was a tall, burly man in a brown uniform with the insignia of the New York City Sheriff's Department. Behind him stood Licenciado Salazar and two moving men carrying large, empty cardboard boxes.
Brenda stepped back, her phone slipping from her fingers onto the rug. "What... what is this? Who are you? This is Javier’s apartment! You can't just walk in here!"
The sheriff's deputy didn't look at her. He pulled a thick, official document from his leather clipboard—a certified copy of an Emergency Ejectment Order signed by a state supreme court judge three hours ago.
"Brenda Velez?" the deputy asked, his voice booming through the apartment.
"Yes... but—"
"Ma'am, I am serving you with an immediate execution of eviction for this property," the deputy said, handing her the paper. "This asset belongs entirely to the Mercedes Whitmore Revocable Trust. The authorized corporate trustee has revoked all residency permissions for Javier Dunn and any associated guests. You have thirty minutes to collect your personal clothing and vital documents. Everything else remains the property of the trust."
Brenda’s mouth fell open, her carefully applied makeup looking ridiculous against the sudden paleness of her skin. "Eviction? That’s impossible! Javier owns this place! He told me his mother signed it over to him last year!"
"Javier lied to you, ma'am," Salazar said, stepping into the room, his long cashmere coat dry despite the rain. He pointed to the bedroom hallway. "He never owned a single square inch of this floor. He was a tenant at sufferance under an expired authorization. Movers, begin with the primary bedroom. Pack only the female items that match this individual’s identity. The luxury watches and the designer suits stay in the closet."
"No! You can't do this!" Brenda shrieked, running toward the bedroom, but the sheriff’s deputy blocked her path with his arm.
"Ma'am, don't make this a criminal matter," the deputy warned coldly. "Thirty minutes. Start packing your bags, or you will be removed in handcuffs."
Twenty-five minutes later, Brenda was standing on the wet pavement of the Queens street, her two expensive designer suitcases sitting in a puddle beside her. Her hair was damp from the rain, her long nails scratching at the handles of her bags as she dialed Javier’s number for the twentieth time.
When he finally answered, his voice sounded like he was speaking from the bottom of a deep, dark well.
"Brenda..."
"Javier! Where the hell are you?" she screamed into the phone, her voice carrying across the busy avenue. "The police just threw me out of the apartment! They took my keys! They said we have nothing! Javier, do something!"
There was a long, terrifying silence on the other end of the line.
"I can't do anything, Brenda," Javier whispered, the sound of passing subway trains loud in his background. He was standing under a wet awning near the Queensboro Plaza station, his beautiful navy suit soaked through, his gold Rolex looking entirely useless without a dollar in his wallet. "The bank accounts are frozen. The car is gone. My mother... my mother has everything. I don't even have enough money for a hotel room tonight."
Brenda looked down at her two suitcases, and then her eyes turned cold—the short-lived romance completely evaporating the second the cash flow dried up.
"You don't have any money?" she asked, her voice dropping into a sharp, flat sneer.
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"No... I thought if we could talk to Uncle Richard—"
"Don't call me again, Javier," Brenda said flatly. She hung up the phone, blocked his number, and flagged down a yellow cab, leaving Javier standing in the rain, completely and utterly alone in the city his mother had conquered.
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