Job was practically biting his lip to keep from grinning. "Rolf, buddy, now that you and Director Prescott are divorced, I bet you can't even afford to eat."
I pointed at the door. "Get the hell out."
"On what authority? Director Prescott hasn't told me to leave."
"Fiona and I haven't filed the papers yet. That means I'm still the man of this house. Get out. Now."
Fiona pulled Job into her arms. "This house is mine. If anyone's leaving, it's you."
She called the housekeepers over and had them throw every last thing I owned out the front door. My belongings piled up on the doorstep like a small mountain.
I didn't rush. Didn't panic. I pulled out my phone, opened a group chat, and typed one message.
Uncles, I'm divorced. Fiona kicked me out.
The chat erupted.
Messages flooded in one after another.
"That woman dared treat our precious nephew like this? Sounds like she's had it too good for too long and forgot where she came from."
"We put her where she is. We can just as easily tear her back down."
"Treating Rolf like this? She must have a death wish."
…
"Enough talk. Move. Now."
I stood outside the villa, watching the messages roll in, one after another.
Job was standing in the doorway too, arms crossed, watching me. "Still here? Can't bring yourself to leave?"
"I get it. After today, forget living in a place like this. You probably won't even get to look at a mansion this nice again."
Just as Job was gloating to his heart's content, a convoy from the District Attorney's office was pulling up the road toward them.
When the vehicles stopped in front of the villa, both Fiona and Job froze.
Several prosecutors stepped out.
"We are hereby seizing this property in accordance with the law. Nothing inside may be removed."
They proceeded to tape official seizure notices across the front doors.
