Chapter 5 - Item Number One
The four movers pushed past Margaret as if she weren't even standing there.
"Daniel!" Margaret screamed, her voice reaching a hysterical shriek. "Do something! She's stealing my furniture!"
Daniel stood in the center of the foyer, looking completely paralyzed as two movers walked past him carrying heavy leather straps and power screwdrivers.
"Emily, wait!" Daniel yelled, running down the steps to grab my arm. "You can't just take the sofa! My mother bought that!"
"Your mother picked it out, Daniel," I corrected him smoothly, pulling my arm out of his reach. "I paid eighty-five thousand pesos for it on my corporate credit card. The invoice is on page three. You haven't paid me back a single cent."
Inside the drawing room, the sharp BZZZZT of a power drill echoed off the tall ceilings.
Three minutes later, two movers emerged through the double front doors carrying the left section of the massive, cream-colored Italian leather sectional sofa.
Margaret let out a horrific, wounded gasp, as if someone had physically struck her in the chest.
"My couch!" Margaret wailed, running after the movers as they carried the leather piece down the driveway. "That couch was hand-imported from Milan! You can't put that in a dusty truck!"
"It's going into truck number one, Margaret," I called out, watching the movers load the leather frame onto the hydraulic lift gate. "It's going directly into my warehouse, where it will be resold to cover your unpaid debt."
Daniel ran into the kitchen, returning ten seconds later with his phone pressed to his ear.
"I'm calling the police!" Daniel shouted at me, his hand trembling violently. "This is trespassing! This is grand larceny!"
"Go ahead, Daniel," I replied calmly, taking a sip of the coffee I had brought in a thermos from my truck. "Tell the officer that your ex-fiancée is removing personal property backed by forty pages of paid commercial invoices and a recorded mechanics' lien."
Five minutes later, a white-and-black Santa Barbara Sheriff’s department cruiser pulled up to the curb behind the second moving truck.
Deputy Miller, a tall, stern officer whom I had worked with on three previous commercial building sites in the county, stepped out of the vehicle and walked up the driveway.
"What seems to be the problem here?" Deputy Miller asked, adjusting his utility belt.
"Officer!" Margaret shrieked, grabbing his sleeve with hysterical force. "Arrest this woman! She’s tearing my house apart! She’s taking my furniture!"
Deputy Miller turned his head toward me. "Emily? What's going on?"
I handed him the blue leather folder.
"Good morning, Deputy," I said politely. "I am executing an asset recovery for Miller Design LLC. Here are the original invoices, the title assignments, and the notification letter filed with your department at seven o'clock this morning."
Deputy Miller adjusted his glasses and spent two minutes reading through the stamped legal documents.
He looked up at Margaret, then at Daniel, and finally back at me.
He closed the folder and handed it back to me.
"Everything is in order, ma'am," Deputy Miller announced calmly. He turned to Margaret. "Ma'am, these items are legally registered under her business entity. She has the right to repossess them. I suggest you stay out of the workers' way so no one gets hurt."
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Margaret stared at the officer as if he had just spoken in a foreign language.
And then, Marcus walked out the front door holding a heavy chrome Sub-Zero refrigerator door under his arm.
