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.”
“New owners?!” Evelyn shrieked, stumbling out of the taxi, her oversized sunglasses slipping down her nose. “This is our house! Daniel, call the police! Claire has lost her mind!”
“Actually, the police are already on their way,” a new voice interrupted.
I stepped out from behind the moving truck. I wasn’t wearing the damp, stretched-out dress from ten days ago. I was in a crisp white linen suit, my hair pulled back into a sharp, professional knot. In my arms, my daughter slept peacefully in a luxury baby wrap, utterly undisturbed by the chaos.
