Instead, the taxi pulled up to the gates of the Hillcrest estate to find a massive, yellow moving truck parked in the circular driveway.
Two men in matching uniforms were carrying a heavy leather armchair—Evelyn’s favorite—down the front steps.
Daniel slammed the taxi door open, his face flushing crimson. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he screamed, sprinting up the driveway. “Drop that! That’s federal property! Who authorized this?”
A tall man in a tailored charcoal suit stepped out from the foyer, holding a clipboard. Marcus Lee, the city’s most ruthless corporate relocation broker, offered a calm, razor-thin smile.
“Mr. Vance, I presume?” Marcus said, checking his watch. “You’re cutting it a bit close. The new owners take possession at noon. Your remaining personal items have been boxed and placed in the garage, as per the seller’s explicit instruction.”µ
