Chapter 3 - The Threat of the Asylum
For the first twenty-four hours after their return, the house on the hill in Bayside, Connecticut, was a war zone.
My parents locked themselves in Dad’s home office, the muffled sounds of frantic, screaming phone calls filtering through the heavy oak doors. Caleb had retreated to his bedroom, blasting music to drown out the reality of his suddenly frozen trust fund.
Grandpa and I sat in the dining room, reviewing the final legal protections Evelyn Vance—the family lawyer Theodore had hired in secret—had drafted for us.
"They're going to fight, Avery," Grandpa Theodore warned, his long fingers tracing the edge of his coffee cup. "Your father is a cornered rat. And rats don't negotiate; they bite."
"Let them try," I said, my voice filled with a cold confidence I hadn't known I possessed until this week. "We have the physical checks, Grandpa. We have the bank's fraud unit already investigating. There's no way out for him."
The dining room doors swung open, and Richard walked in.
He had taken off his suit jacket, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his hair messy. He looked ten years older than he had yesterday. He didn't look angry anymore; he looked desperate. He sat down at the far end of the table, looking at his father with a hollow, pleading expression.
"Theodore," Richard said, his voice cracking. "I know I made mistakes. The business... the shipping company was failing. If I didn't inject cash, we would have lost everything. The house, the cars, the lifestyle. I did it for the family. I did it for your grandchildren."
"You did it for your own pride, Richard," Grandpa Theodore said, not moving an inch. "You wanted to play the grand benefactor of Bayside Heights while using my sweat and blood to pay the bill."
"If you go through with this district attorney filing," Richard whispered, his hands clenching, "I will go to prison. Do you understand that? Your own son, in a federal penitentiary. The scandal will ruin Caleb’s future. It will ruin Avery’s career."
"Avery’s career is perfectly fine," I said, leaning forward. "And Caleb’s future would be a lot brighter if he learned that actions have actual consequences."
Richard’s eyes snapped to me, a sudden, venomous flash of hatred burning in his pupils. "You... you did this, Avery. You came into this house, pretending to be the dutiful daughter, and you poisoned my father's mind against me."
"Your father's mind was perfectly clear, Richard," a sharp voice interrupted from the doorway.
Evelyn Vance walked in, her navy-blue power suit immaculate, her leather briefcase in hand. She had keycard access to the estate, courtesy of the trust Theodore had established earlier that week.
"Mr. Hartley," Evelyn said, setting her briefcase on the table with a crisp click. "I suggest you watch what you say to my client and his designated guardian. I have here a copy of the emergency restraining order signed by Judge Miller this morning. It legally bars you, Beatrice, and Caleb from accessing any of Theodore’s personal assets, and it establishes Avery as his sole medical and financial power of attorney."
Richard let out a harsh, dry laugh. "A restraining order? In my own house?"
"It’s not your house anymore, Dad," I said, sliding a document across the table. "This house was purchased with Grandpa’s inheritance money, and the deed was placed in his name thirty years ago. Your 'transfer of ownership' was ruled fraudulent by the county clerk yesterday. The house is now officially held in the Theodore Whitaker Protected Trust. You have seven days to vacate the premises."
May you like
Richard stared at the paper, his jaw dropping. "You're... you're evicting us?"
"I am protecting my grandfather," I said, my voice steady and unyielding. "And the next time you raise your voice to him, the sheriff's deputies waiting at the gate will carry you out in handcuffs."
