She snatched up her phone and called her lawyer, demanding a divorce agreement be drafted immediately.
It arrived fast.
I didn't think twice. I signed it.
Fiona saw my signature and signed without hesitation.
Job was practically biting his lip to keep from grinning. "Rolf, buddy, now that you and Director Prescott are divorced, I bet you can't even afford to eat."
I pointed at the door. "Get the hell out."
"On what authority? Director Prescott hasn't told me to leave."
"Fiona and I haven't filed the papers yet. That means I'm still the man of this house. Get out. Now."
Fiona pulled Job into her arms. "This house is mine. If anyone's leaving, it's you."
She called the housekeepers over and had them throw every last thing I owned out the front door. My belongings piled up on the doorstep like a small mountain.
I didn't rush. Didn't panic. I pulled out my phone, opened a group chat, and typed one message.
Uncles, I'm divorced. Fiona kicked me out.
The chat erupted.
Messages flooded in one after another.
"That woman dared treat our precious nephew like this? Sounds like she's had it too good for too long and forgot where she came from."