Chapter 3 - The Man at the Front Door Had a KeyDean watched the security screen.
A man stood in the front hall.
Gray suit.
Silver tie.
Leather briefcase.
Grant Weller.
Dean knew him.
“Uncle Grant,” Miles called sometimes, though Grant was not family.
He had attended Christmas dinner.
He had brought Dean a baseball glove.
He had stood beside Marshall at Lillian's funeral.
Now he was inside their home without knocking.
Because he had a key.
Faye hurried toward him.
“You weren't supposed to come here.”
“Neither was Marshall.”
Dean increased the volume.
Grant glanced toward the camera.
“Is that live?”
Faye's face tightened.
“The kitchen one is.”
Grant stared.
“How?”
“The kid.”
He looked toward Marshall's office.
“Dean?”
“Yes.”
“Damn it.”
Dean pressed the phone closer.
Marshall whispered from the other end:
“Keep recording.”
Dean used the tablet.
Grant lowered his voice.
“We need to leave.”
“What about the closing?”
“Filed.”
“The money?”
“Escrow released the first tranche.”
“How much?”
“Your part isn't available yet.”
Faye's voice sharpened.
“That wasn't the agreement.”
“Stop worrying about your money.”
“I didn't do all this for free.”
Dean felt his stomach twist.
Grant looked toward the hallway.
“Where are the boys?”
“Office.”
“Why?”
“Marshall told Dean to lock himself in.”
Grant rubbed his forehead.
“Perfect.”
“I can get him out.”
“No.”
“We need them gone.”
“Not by force.”
Faye laughed.
“You're worried about force now?”
Grant stared at her.
“There's a camera.”
Faye's face changed.
That was when Dean understood something important.
Grant was not shocked by what Faye had done.
He was shocked that it might have been recorded.
Marshall heard it too.
“Dean,” he whispered, “I'm ten minutes away.”
Dean nodded although his father couldn't see him.
Grant continued.
“If Marshall arrives before we have control of the situation, you say you misunderstood the care authorization.”
“He won't believe that.”
“He doesn't have to believe it. He has to hesitate.”
“Why?”
“Because hesitation buys time.”
“For what?”
Grant looked toward the front windows.
“For Cedar Vale to secure possession.”
Faye stared.
“You said they wouldn't do that today.”
“Plans changed.”
“What does secure possession mean?”
“Locks. Inventory. Notice.”
“My things are here.”
“You were told to pack.”
“I packed the boys.”
Grant's expression hardened.
“Why?”
“Because they were coming with me.”
“That was never the plan.”
Faye's face changed.
Dean held his breath.
“What?”
“The care authorization was leverage.”
“You said I would take them.”
“I said we could discuss guardianship later.”
“You promised.”
“I promised you money.”
Faye stared at him.
Then Dean heard something in her voice he had never heard before.
Fear.
“What happens to them when the buyer takes the house?”
“That's Marshall's problem.”
“No.”
“You wanted the property sold.”
“I wanted my share.”
“You're getting it.”
“I was supposed to take Dean and Miles to Colorado until this settled.”
Grant exhaled.
“Faye, listen to me carefully. There is no Colorado arrangement.”
Dean looked at the airline tickets beside him.
Then understood.
Faye had bought them.
Not Grant.
She had planned something separate.
Marshall whispered:
“Photograph everything.”
Dean already had.
Grant continued.
“You cannot take children across state lines after their father expressly objects.”
“You wrote the authorization.”
“It was designed to show consent if necessary.”
“You told me it was legal.”
“I told you it was usable.”
Faye went silent.
Marshall heard every word.
His lawyer had just admitted creating a document designed to appear like parental consent.
Grant looked toward the office again.
“Dean.”
Dean didn't answer.
“I know you're in there.”
Miles crawled toward the door.
Dean grabbed him gently.
“Dean, your father asked me to handle this.”
Dean stared at the security monitor.
Grant looked directly toward the office door.
“Your father signed documents.”
“No, he didn't.”
Grant's face tightened.
“You don't understand adult business.”
“Dad said he didn't.”
“Your father has been under a lot of stress since your mother died.”
Dean's eyes filled.
He hated when adults used Lillian's death to make Marshall sound broken.
“He forgets things.”
That phrase caught Marshall's attention.
Not because Grant had never said it before.
Because Faye had.
For months.
Marshall doesn't remember.
Marshall is exhausted.
Marshall told me, he probably forgot.
A pattern.
Marshall turned onto Willow Crest Road.
Eight minutes.
Grant continued.
“He asked us to help.”
Dean finally spoke.
“Then why did Dad yell when he saw the papers?”
Silence.
Faye whispered:
“Because he wasn't supposed to see them yet.”
Grant turned toward her.
“Stop talking.”
Too late.
Dean heard a vehicle outside.
Not his father's.
A white SUV pulled into the driveway.
Two men exited wearing work uniforms.
CEDAR VALE PROPERTY SERVICES.
One carried a toolbox.
The other carried a stack of papers.
Grant looked through the front window.
“They're early.”
Faye stared.
“What are they doing?”
“Changing exterior locks.”
“This is still Marshall's house!”
Grant looked at her.
“No.”
He said it almost gently.
“As of 10:12 this morning, it isn't.”
Dean's heart pounded.
One of the workers approached the door.
Then another vehicle appeared at the end of the driveway.
Black.
Fast.
Marshall.
Grant saw it too.
“Oh, hell.”
Marshall's SUV stopped at an angle across the driveway.
The driver's door opened.
Marshall stepped out.
He looked at the workers.
Then at Grant standing inside his front window.
Then at the home where his children were locked in an office because the woman he trusted to care for them had hit his baby and packed bags to take both boys out of state.
Marshall walked toward the front door.
Grant opened it before he reached the steps.
“Marshall.”
“Move.”
“We need to talk.”
“Move.”
“Everything has an explanation.”
Marshall stared at his oldest friend.
“Good.”
His voice was quiet.
“Explain it to the police.”
May you like
Grant's face changed.
Behind Marshall, two sheriff's vehicles turned onto Willow Crest Road.
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