Chapter 3 - THE CHANGED LOCKS
The drive back to our house took twenty minutes, but it felt like hours. Amy stayed at the hospital with Frederick, holding him close while they waited for the test results. I had promised her I was only going to get her wallet and find out where the money went.
When I pulled into the driveway, the party was over. The guests’ cars were gone. The house was completely dark, save for the porch light illuminating the front door.
I walked up the steps, my chest tight with a rage I had never experienced in my thirty-four years of life. I bypassed the front door, knowing the key was gone from Amy’s ring, and went around to the side door near the kitchen. I used my own key. It slid into the deadbolt, but it wouldn't turn.
I pulled it out and looked at the lock. It was shiny and new. My mother hadn't just taken Amy's key. She had changed the locks while we were at the hospital with my sick son.
I wasn't about to be locked out of my own home. I walked to the back patio. Years ago, the latch on the sliding glass door had broken, and I had temporarily fixed it by placing a wooden dowel in the track. I knew exactly how to wiggle the glass to dislodge the wood.
Within seconds, the door slid open.
The house was eerily quiet. The smell of expensive bourbon and stale shrimp lingered in the air. The kitchen was still a disaster zone of dirty plates and greasy pans—the exact mess my mother had forced Amy to clean.
I walked quietly into the hallway. Light spilled from under the door of the guest room. My mother's room.
I pushed the door open without knocking.
Teresa was sitting at a small antique writing desk I had inherited from my grandfather. She wasn't wearing the cream-colored party dress anymore. She wore a silk robe, and in front of her were stacks of paperwork.
She spun around, startled. When she saw it was me, she quickly threw a leather portfolio over the papers.
"How did you get in here?" she snapped, standing up. "You scared me half to death."
"Where is my wife's wallet?" I demanded, stepping into the room. "And where is the thirty-two thousand dollars from my son's savings account?"
She didn't flinch. Instead, she crossed her arms and offered a cold, patronizing smile. "I'm protecting your assets, Connor. You'll thank me when you finally realize that girl is trying to ruin you."
"Protecting my assets by stealing them?" I took another step forward. "I saw the occupancy agreement, Mom. I know you forged my signature. You're leaving tonight."
Teresa laughed. It was a harsh, scraping sound. "I'm not going anywhere. And you didn't see a forgery."
She reached under the leather portfolio and pulled out a small, blue velvet box. My heart stopped. It was the box that held my late father’s silver pocket watch. He had given it to me on his deathbed.
May you like
She snapped the box open. The watch was gone. Inside was a folded piece of yellowed paper.
"Your father left a lot of debts, Connor," she said softly. "Debts you don't know about. If you kick me out, this paper goes to the bank, and you lose this house tomorrow. I didn't forge anything. I'm just collecting what's mine."
