Chapter 5 - THE SIEGE
I broke every speed limit getting back to my house in the suburbs.
When I pulled into the driveway, the sight of a Nashville Police cruiser parked across the street gave me a brief moment of relief. I parked and ran to the front door, unlocking it with shaking hands.
“Amy!” I called out as I stepped inside.
Amy appeared from the kitchen, holding Frederick. She looked strong, but the exhaustion was visible in the dark circles under her eyes.
“I heard about the bail,” she said, her voice remarkably steady. “The officer outside came to the door and told me. Connor, what are we going to do? If Mason works for criminals, we aren't safe here.”
“We’re packing a bag,” I said, taking Frederick from her arms. “We’re going to a hotel downtown, near the police station. We’ll stay there until the district attorney files the grand jury indictments.”
Amy nodded and hurried down the hall to our bedroom to pack.
I stood in the living room, holding my son, looking around the house I had bled for. The walls we had painted together. The hardwood floors I had installed by hand. It felt tainted now.
Suddenly, a heavy knock echoed from the back door. The same door I had walked through to find Amy scrubbing dishes like a servant.
I handed Frederick to Amy, who had just walked out of the bedroom holding a duffel bag.
“Go to the front room,” I whispered.
I walked through the kitchen and pulled back the curtain on the back door window.
Standing on my patio was Mason.
He was wearing a sharp suit, completely different from the panicked man pressed against a police car the night before. He looked confident. Arrogant.
He held up a white envelope and pointed to the ground, signaling he wanted to talk.
I unlocked the deadbolt and stepped out onto the patio, keeping the door open behind me.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here, Mason,” I said, my fists clenched at my sides. “There’s a police officer sitting out front.”
“I know,” Mason smiled smoothly. “But he’s out front. We’re out back. And I’m just here to deliver a peace offering from Aunt Teresa.”
“I don't want anything from her.”
“You’ll want this,” Mason said. He opened the envelope and pulled out a small, child’s drawing.
It was a drawing I had made when I was six years old. A crude crayon picture of me, my mother, and my father. My mother had kept it framed on her mantel for thirty years. It was the only thing I had ever asked for when I moved out. She had refused to give it to me.
Mason dropped the drawing onto the patio table.
“She says you can keep it,” Mason said. “If you sign the house over to us today.”
“I know about the gambling debt, Mason,” I said coldly. “I know about John Vance. I know you forced him to approve the fake loans to pay off your bosses. It’s over.”
Mason’s arrogant smile slipped for a fraction of a second, but he quickly recovered.
“You don't get it, Connor,” Mason laughed. “You think you’re a hero protecting your little family. But my bosses already own the equity on this property. The bank already processed the secondary loan. If you go to the cops with John Vance’s story, the loan is frozen in civil court for years. You’ll be drowning in legal fees, and my bosses will still foreclose.”
He took a step closer to the patio steps.
“But if you drop the criminal charges against me and Teresa,” Mason offered, his eyes turning cold, “I’ll get the loan transferred to a different property. You keep the house. You keep your wife and your kid safe. You walk away.”
I looked at him. The offer was tempting. To just end the nightmare. To keep my family safe from loan sharks and lawyers.
But I thought about Amy, sitting on that plastic stool, crying while she washed dishes with a sick baby in her arms. I thought about the absolute cruelty in my mother’s eyes.
I reached down and picked up the crayon drawing. I looked at it for a moment, remembering a time when I thought my mother actually loved me.
Then, I tore the drawing in half.
I dropped the pieces at Mason’s feet.
“I’m not dropping the charges,” I said, my voice echoing in the quiet backyard. “I’m going to watch you both go to prison. And if your bosses want my house, tell them to come take it from me.”
Mason stared at the torn drawing. His face flushed red with pure, violent rage.
“You just made the biggest mistake of your life, Connor,” Mason hissed.
He turned and walked away, slipping through the back gate.
May you like
I locked the door and turned around. Amy was standing in the kitchen, holding Frederick, tears in her eyes. But she wasn't crying from fear. She was smiling.
“I packed the bags,” Amy said, standing taller than she had in months. “Let’s go take our lives back.”
