I turned to Sergeant Miller. “Officer, to avoid any accusation of theft, I am willing to let them enter the premises to inspect and collect David’s personal belongings. I ask that you and one officer supervise.”
Miller nodded. “If you consent, that is the easiest way to resolve this. Go in, get any belongings, and leave peacefully.”
Brenda’s eyes lit up. She believed she had won.
I walked to the gate, opened my smart-home app, and tapped the screen. A deep click echoed. The heavy wrought-iron gates slowly swung inward.
As the gates opened, Kyle quickly drove his red Dodge Charger inside and parked it in the courtyard. I stepped aside with a polite gesture.
“After you, Brenda. Go on in. Look closely. Don’t miss a single corner.”
Ignoring my tone, the Peterson family pushed past me. Kyle ran first, with Savannah and Brenda scrambling behind him. The movers peered through the gate, waiting for instructions.
I followed at a leisurely pace with a young LAPD officer. Kyle reached the massive custom oak doors first. He grabbed the handle and yanked it open. It was unlocked.
He threw the doors wide and shouted, “We’re in, Ma. Movers, bring the dollies.”
Then his voice died.
Brenda reached the threshold, panting. “The TV in the living room is mine,” she began. Then she stopped.
They stormed into the foyer like pirates boarding a treasure ship. But within seconds, every shout disappeared. The house went silent. Instead of the sounds of looting, I heard only heavy breathing and confused footsteps.
I walked up the front steps, stopped in the doorway, crossed my arms, and looked inside. There they were. Three frozen statues. Their backs were tense as if they had seen a ghost in broad daylight.
The late afternoon sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, exposing the truth. The sprawling living room that had once looked like a magazine spread was completely empty.
Gone was the custom Italian leather sectional. Gone was the massive curved television. Gone was the Persian rug. Gone were the antique vases, art collection, and imported tables. Everything was gone.
All that remained were white walls and gleaming marble floors reflecting the devastated faces of my ex-in-laws. The house echoed with hollow emptiness.
Brenda rubbed her eyes, as if the heat had caused a hallucination. “The stuff,” she whispered. “Where is everything?”
Kyle sprinted into the chef’s kitchen. Cabinets slammed open. Drawers rattled. “Mom, the kitchen is empty. The fridge, the smart oven, the dishwasher. She even took the forks and spoons.”
Savannah ran upstairs. Her heels clacked loudly on the hardwood steps. A moment later, her scream came from the second floor. “The bedrooms are empty. The beds, the dressers, the vanities. There is not even a hanger in the closets.”
I leaned casually against the doorframe, watching Brenda. She stood in the center of the living room, pointing a trembling finger at me. “You. Where did you hide it all?”
I stepped inside. My heels clicked against the marble.
“Brenda, everything in this house, from the television to the forks, was purchased with my money. The receipts are in my name. Since the house and its contents are my premarital assets, I had a crew pack everything and move it to a secure storage unit in Pasadena.”
Her mouth opened and closed.
“The only things left were David’s old suits and personal junk,” I continued. “Those are in black trash bags near the dumpsters out back.”