Chapter 2 - Breakfast With Thieves
I slept for forty-seven minutes.
At 6:12 a.m., I woke to the smell of coffee.
For one disorienting second, I thought Margaret was downstairs.
Then memory returned.
The dog bowl.
The laughter.
The forged signature.
The missing documents.
Lucas.
I dressed slowly.
Gray slacks.
Blue shirt.
Brown loafers.
The same clothes I might have worn to church.
If Jason was trying to build a case that I was unstable, I was going to make stability look boring.
Before leaving my room, I photographed the empty document folder and Vanessa's sticky note.
Then I placed the note in a plastic sleeve.
At 6:34, Elaine called.
She had already checked county property records.
"The deed is still recorded under the Turner Family Trust," she said.
Relief washed through me.
"So they can't sell it."
"Not so fast."
My relief disappeared.
"What?"
"Someone filed a memorandum of purchase option twelve days ago."
"On my house?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"North Ridge Development LLC."
I knew instantly.
"Lucas."
"Possibly."
"How can someone file an option without me?"
"They shouldn't be able to."
"But they did."
"Which means we need the underlying document."
I sat on the edge of the bed.
"Elaine, are they taking my house?"
"Not today."
That wasn't the same as no.
"I've contacted a title company I trust," she continued.
"We're pulling everything."
"What should I do?"
"Act normal."
"I've never hated two words more."
"You need them careless."
I heard movement downstairs.
"Too late."
"Why?"
"Jason is awake."
"Then go have breakfast."
"With the people trying to steal my house?"
"Especially with them."
I disconnected.
Then I went downstairs.
The dining room looked like the aftermath of a fraternity party.
Wine glasses covered the table.
Plates sat beneath half-eaten food.
A chair had been knocked sideways.
Margaret's linen napkins were stained with red wine.
Jason sat at the kitchen island scrolling through his phone.
Vanessa stood beside the espresso machine.
Neither apologized.
Neither looked embarrassed.
Vanessa looked at me first.
"Morning."
"Morning."
Jason glanced up.
"You okay?"
It was almost impressive.
The performance.
Concerned son.
Fragile father.
I opened the refrigerator.
"I'm seventy, not dead."
He laughed.
"Nobody said you were dead."
Not yet, I thought.
Vanessa sipped her coffee.
"Last night got a little weird."
"I noticed."
"It was supposed to be funny."
"Then perhaps I misplaced my sense of humor."
Jason watched me.
He was trying to decide how much I knew.
I gave him nothing.
I cracked two eggs into a pan.
Then his phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen.
His face changed.
Just slightly.
But I saw it.
"What?" Vanessa asked.
Jason stood.
"My card got declined."
I buttered toast.
Vanessa frowned.
"Which card?"
"The Platinum."
"That's impossible."
"No," I said.
They both looked at me.
I put toast on a plate.
"Declines happen."
Jason stared.
"You didn't do something, did you?"
"Do something?"
"With the account."
I carried my plate to the table.
"Which account?"
He hesitated.
That was satisfying.
Because for the first time, he had to decide whether he was allowed to admit that he depended on my money.
Vanessa crossed her arms.
"Harold, did you cancel our cards?"
"Our cards?"
Her expression tightened.
"You know what I mean."
"I canceled my cards."
Jason stepped closer.
"The ones we use."
"My point exactly."
His face reddened.
"Dad, this is ridiculous."
I cut my toast.
"Is it?"
"You can't just shut off everything because you're embarrassed about a joke."
"I'm fairly certain I can."
"We have bills."
"So do I."
Vanessa spoke more carefully.
"We had an agreement."
I looked at her.
"What agreement?"
She opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
That was mistake number one of the morning.
Jason jumped in.
"You said you'd help until we got stable."
"You've been getting stable for four years."
"I'm building something."
"What?"
"My future."
"Apparently with my credit limit."
Vanessa grabbed her phone.
"I'm late."
"For what?"
She looked at me.
"Work."
Vanessa hadn't had a regular job in almost two years.
I knew because I had been paying her car insurance.
"Busy day?"
"Very."
She picked up her handbag.
Jason followed her toward the hall.
They whispered.
I couldn't hear every word.
But I heard one.
Lucas.
Then Jason turned.
"We'll talk later."
"Looking forward to it."
The front door closed.
I waited thirty seconds.
Then I called Elaine.
"They know the cards are gone."
"How did they react?"
"Like someone unplugged life support."
"Good."
"What now?"
"I need you at my office in an hour."
"I'll be there."
"And Harold?"
"Yes?"
"Don't bring the originals."
"I don't have them."
"Exactly."
I arrived at Elaine's office at 8:03.
She was sixty-eight, silver-haired, sharp-eyed, and dressed like every conversation might end in a deposition.
She spread documents across a conference table.
"I found North Ridge."
"And?"
"It's controlled by three entities."
"Lucas?"
"Eventually."
She pointed to a corporate filing.
"The ownership runs through two LLCs, but one manager is Lucas Reed."
I nodded.
"What are they trying to do?"
"Buy your property for $940,000."
I laughed.
It came out harsh.
"You said it's worth nearly two million."
"Probably more."
"So Jason is trying to sell my house for half value to his brother-in-law."
"There's more."
Of course there was.
Elaine slid another document toward me.
"North Ridge has an agreement to resell the combined parcels on your block."
"Combined parcels?"
"Your house isn't the only one."
She pulled out a map.
Six homes were highlighted.
Five had already entered purchase agreements.
Mine sat in the center.
"Your property is the final piece."
"Why?"
"Access."
She pointed to the rear of my lot.
"A future service road has to cross your parcel."
"So they need me."
"They desperately need you."
"How much is the project worth?"
"Current projections?"
She turned a page.
"Forty-eight million dollars."
I stared at her.
My house wasn't simply valuable.
It was necessary.
Jason wasn't stealing a retirement asset.
He was selling a key.
"For $940,000."
"North Ridge would pay the trust that amount."
"And Jason?"
Elaine tapped another page.
"We found a consulting agreement."
I read the number.
My throat tightened.
$375,000 success fee payable to Turner-Reed Advisory upon acquisition of Parcel 16.
Jason's company.
Except I had never heard of Turner-Reed Advisory.
"Three hundred seventy-five thousand dollars."
"If the deal closes."
I leaned back.
"So that's my son's price."
Elaine didn't answer.
I looked down at the paperwork.
"Can we stop it?"
"Yes."
I looked up.
"Definitely?"
"We have strong grounds."
"That's lawyer language."
"It is."
"Translate."
"We can stop the sale unless they have something I haven't seen."
The door opened.
Elaine's assistant entered with a sealed envelope.
"This was couriered for Mr. Turner."
"For me?"
She nodded.
"No return name."
Elaine put on gloves before opening it.
Inside was a photocopy.
The first page appeared to be a medical report.
My name was at the top.
Under diagnosis were words I had never expected to see associated with me.
Major neurocognitive disorder.
Probable Alzheimer's disease.
My chest tightened.
"I don't have Alzheimer's."
"I know."
"I've never seen this doctor."
Elaine scanned the signature.
"Dr. Stephen Keene."
The name sounded familiar.
Then I remembered.
One of the suspicious payments.
Clearbrook had paid him.
Elaine continued reading.
Then she stopped.
"What?"
"Harold..."
"What?"
She turned the report around.
At the bottom was a section titled:
RECOMMENDATION.
It stated that I could no longer reliably manage significant financial or real-estate decisions.
And directly beneath it was another sentence.
Emergency guardianship should be considered to prevent dissipation of assets.
I felt sick.
Elaine reached into the envelope again.
There was one more page.
A court filing.
Stamped.
Received.
That morning.
Jason had filed for emergency guardianship over me.
My son wasn't waiting for me to become helpless.
May you like
He was asking a judge to declare that I already was.
And the hearing was scheduled for Monday.
