“I am the owner. My son bought this house!”
I watched it all from my office, recording everything through the security system.
David sat beside me, taking notes.
Eleanor tried everything.
She claimed to have keys. She didn’t.
She said she’d left personal items inside. Impossible.
She even tried to scale the fence, until the guard informed her that would be criminal trespass on camera.
The charity committee ladies began to look uncomfortable.
Patricia Worthington, the committee chair, approached Eleanor.
“Perhaps there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“The only misunderstanding,” Eleanor snapped, “is my daughter-in-law’s delusion that she has any say in Drexler family properties.”
Then she made her biggest mistake.
In full view of the cameras and witnesses, Eleanor pulled out a crowbar from the moving truck and approached the gate lock.
The guard immediately called 911.
“We have an attempted breaking and entering in progress at 2847 Pacific Coast Highway.”
Eleanor’s face went white as she heard sirens approaching.
The moving truck driver, apparently smarter than his client, immediately started backing away. The charity committee scattered to their cars.
“Mrs. Drexler,” the guard said calmly. “I suggest you step away from the gate before the police arrive.”
But Eleanor, in her entitled rage, kept trying to break the lock, screaming, “This is my house! My son bought it for me!”
