Chapter 4 - The Rat in the Corner
Duncan came stumbling down the carpeted stairs, wearing sweatpants and an unbuttoned shirt, smelling strongly of cheap bourbon. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair disheveled.
When he saw me standing in the foyer with two six-foot-two State Troopers and a locksmith holding a heavy drill, all the smug arrogance he had worn for five years vanished.
"Evelyn...?" Duncan stammered, backing up against the banister. "What... what are you doing? We were just having a private family disagreement with Hannah..."
"A private disagreement?" I stepped into the foyer, my heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor I had paid for. "Throwing my daughter and my five-year-old grandson out into an October parking lot to sleep in a car while you gamble away stolen loan money isn't a disagreement, Duncan. It’s grand larceny, child abuse, and fraud."
"We didn't throw them out!" Brenda shrieked, stepping between me and her son like a mother hen protecting a predator. "Hannah walked out! She’s mentally unstable! She’s been taking pills!"
"The lab tests from Urgent Care prove you were slipping sedatives into her coffee, Brenda," I said, pulling a copy of the toxicology report from my coat and slapping it against her chest. "The State Bureau of Criminal Investigation has already seized your medical purchase history from the pharmacy in Kettering."
Brenda went dead pale. She looked at Duncan, whose mouth was hanging open in terror.
"You have twenty minutes to gather your personal clothing," the lead trooper commanded, stepping between Duncan and the doorway. "Anything left behind after twenty minutes becomes the property of the homeowner. Any resistance will result in immediate arrest for criminal trespassing and obstruction."
"You can't do this!" Duncan begged, turning to me with fake tears welling in his eyes. "Evelyn, please! I love Hannah! I made a mistake! The gambling... it was a disease! I can get help! We can fix this house together!"
I walked up to him, stopping three inches from his chest. I looked at the man who had promised to protect my daughter five years ago, the man who had let his mother treat my child like trash.
"You didn't make a mistake, Duncan," I said softly, my voice as hard as diamond. "You made a choice. Every single day for five years, you chose your mother's greed over your wife's safety. You chose forged papers over your son's roof. You are not a husband. You are a parasite."
I turned to the locksmith. "Change every lock on this house. Front door, back door, garage, windows. If these two set foot on this grass again, have them arrested."
Duncan fell to his knees on the hallway floor, weeping pathetically, while Brenda screamed curses at the troopers as they escorted her out to her car without her makeup or her designer handbags.
As the locksmith’s drill began to buzz against the brass deadbolts, Hannah stepped through the front door, holding a box of Wyatt’s favorite stuffed animals she had rescued from the porch.
She looked at the empty foyer, then at me.
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"Is it really over, Mom?" Hannah asked softly.
"No, sweetheart," I said, holding her tightly. "This was just the cleanup. Now, we go after the money."
