Abigayle walked to the heavy wooden double doors and pulled them open.
Three uniformed court marshals stood in the hallway, their hands resting on their utility belts.
Behind them stood Jenna Cole, a mid-level asset liquidation officer from the bank.
Jenna wore a sharp gray pantsuit and held a thick clipboard against her chest.
Abigayle recognized her immediately. Jenna used to handle the Pena family's minor accounts, always smiling with sickening sweetness.
Now, Jenna's eyes gleamed with undisguised schadenfreude.
"Good morning, Abigayle," Jenna said, skipping the formal title. She tapped her pen against the clipboard. "This property is now officially under the possession of the bank. You have exactly five minutes to vacate the premises."
The marshals pushed past Abigayle, stepping into the apartment with rolls of red eviction tape.
They immediately went to the small suitcase Abigayle had packed, roughly unzipping it and digging through her underwear and toiletries.
"Careful," Abigayle said coldly, keeping her posture rigid. "Those are personal items. Exempt from the freeze."
Jenna smirked. She walked over to the leather sofa and spotted the expensive, custom-tailored men's suit jacket Donovan had left behind.
"Is this exempt too?" Jenna mocked, reaching out to grab the lapel. "Looks like a high-value asset. Or did some guy leave his overnight fee?"
Abigayle's eyes darkened.
She stepped forward, her hand shooting out to clamp down hard over Jenna's wrist before the mulish woman could touch the fabric.
"That does not belong to the Pena estate," Abigayle warned, her voice dropping to a lethal register. "It is the private property of a third party."
Jenna tried to yank her hand back, but Abigayle's grip was shockingly strong.
Abigayle stared directly at the name tag pinned to Jenna's lapel.
"Jenna Cole. Employee ID 8492," Abigayle read aloud, her eyes locking onto Jenna's. "This jacket doesn't belong to my family, it belongs to someone else. If you take it, that's theft. Do you really want to add a lawsuit from another powerful family to your problems today?"
Jenna's smug smile faltered. The inherent authority in Abigayle's voice made her hesitate.
Abigayle released her wrist, picked up the heavy suit jacket, and draped it over her own arm.
She grabbed the handle of her small suitcase and walked over to Thaddeus, gently taking the old man's arm.
"Let's go," Abigayle said.
As they walked toward the door, Jenna deliberately stuck her pointed high heel out, aiming to trip the limping butler.
Abigayle saw the movement in her peripheral vision.
She didn't stop. She simply adjusted the angle of her suitcase.
The heavy, hard-plastic wheels of the luggage rolled directly over the toe of Jenna's expensive leather pump, crushing her toes with the full weight of the bag.
Jenna let out a sharp yelp of pain, hopping backward on one foot.
"Watch where you're standing, Jenna," Abigayle said, not even looking back. "You can take the apartment, but you will always be someone who has to look up from the bottom."
Abigayle guided Thaddeus into the elevator and hit the lobby button.
The doors closed, cutting off Jenna's furious glare.
When the elevator reached the ground floor, Abigayle could already hear the shouting outside the glass doors.
The paparazzi had multiplied overnight.
Abigayle stopped in the lobby. She unfolded Donovan's massive suit jacket and draped it over Thaddeus's head and shoulders, completely hiding his bandaged face from the cameras.
She stood in her torn trench coat, put her sunglasses back on, and pushed the doors open.
The flashbulbs exploded like a warzone.
Microphones were shoved toward her face, reporters screaming questions about her father's sudden collapse following the company's bankruptcy and her broken engagement.
Abigayle kept her face completely blank.
She used her body as a shield, pushing through the aggressive crowd, taking the physical shoves and elbows without making a single sound.
She flagged down a yellow cab at the corner, practically shoving Thaddeus into the backseat before diving in after him.
"Drive," she ordered, slamming the door shut.
The cab sped away from the curb, leaving the flashing lights behind.
Abigayle leaned her head against the cold window, watching the building she had lived in her entire life disappear from view.
"Where to, Miss?" the driver asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.
Abigayle reached into her pocket, her fingers wrapping tightly around the cold diamonds of the Van Cleef bracelet.
"Diamond District," Abigayle said, her voice hard and resolute. "The biggest pawnshop on 47th Street."
