“I’ll follow.”
He stepped out of the car, clipboard in hand. I waited 10 seconds, then followed behind, sunglasses on, expression neutral.
The front door was cracked open, voices inside, laughter, clinking dishes.
Granger knocked.
Nathan opened the door.
He was wearing a suit, not a good one, something shiny and ill-fitted, like he borrowed it for a job interview 10 years ago, and never had it tailored. His fake smile flickered when he saw me.
“Oh, you came,” he said.
I didn’t respond.
Granger held out the clipboard. “Mr. Mercer?”
Nathan frowned. “Yeah.”
“I’m here to serve you and Carol Mercer with a formal notice of eviction, non-payment. You’ve exceeded your final grace period.”
The air shifted instantly.
“What?” Nathan sputtered.
“You’re two months behind. I have here a signed notice from the management company. You’ll have 7 days to vacate. After that, enforcement begins.”
My father appeared behind Nathan, mouth already open to speak. Then he saw me and froze.
“Liam.”
I tilted my head slightly. “Dad.”
“What? What’s going on?”
Granger handed him a second copy of the notice. “You were informed about this multiple times. Your son has no legal obligation here. You signed the lease. You defaulted. This is your responsibility.”
“I… I thought…” Dad turned to me, eyes wild. “You said you paid the mortgage.”
“I did once months ago to help you before I found out you lost the house and lied about it.”
Mom appeared next. Makeup perfect. Smile brittle like she’d walked out of a catalog.
“Liam,” she said, “come inside, please. This is a misunderstanding.”
“No,” I said from the driveway.
I saw guests arriving. Cousins, aunts, old neighbors, people I hadn’t seen since high school. They looked confused, sensing tension.
Emily walked up behind me, her phone already out in her hand, not recording, just visible support.
Nathan stepped forward. “You’re ruining everything.”
I looked at him calmly. “You stole my credit card info and booked catering in my name. You told everyone I was hosting this party. You lied to 50 people to save face.”
“You’re overreacting.”
I took out the folded document from my inner pocket. “Here’s an affidavit from my legal team. It details every unauthorized charge. I’m not filing anything yet, but if you speak one more lie using my name, I’ll press charges.”
Mom looked like she’d been slapped.
Dad’s mouth opened again, but no words came out.
I handed Granger the go-ahad signal. “Do your job,” I said.
And as he walked past them into the house to post the notice inside, I stepped back and stood by the sidewalk.
Guests were whispering. Some were already filming, others were turning away. The illusion was breaking, and I hadn’t even said a word to the crowd.