Chapter 3 - My Father's Lockbox
Dinner ended early.
Not officially.
Melissa tried desperately to keep everything normal.
She brought out dessert.
She turned on music.
She laughed too loudly.
But the guests could feel something was wrong.
Within thirty minutes, people began making excuses to leave.
I memorized their names.
Not because I blamed them.
Because several of them had just witnessed statements that might become important later.
The moment the final car left, Melissa turned on me.
“You humiliated me.”
I leaned against the kitchen counter.
“I asked questions.”
“You undermined me in front of my friends.”
“You slapped my mother in front of your friends.”
Mom flinched.
Melissa pointed at her.
“She broke a six-hundred-dollar plate.”
“That doesn't give you permission to touch her.”
“She lives under my roof.”
I stared at her.
“No.”
Melissa blinked.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I wasn't ready yet.
Derek stepped between us.
“Enough.”
I looked at him.
“No, Derek.”
“Rachel.”
“You watched your wife hit Mom.”
“She lost her temper.”
“She hit her.”
“I know.”
“And you did nothing.”
His face tightened.
“You don't understand what we've been dealing with.”
“Explain it.”
“Mom is difficult.”
I actually laughed.
Mom looked devastated.
Derek continued.
“She forgets things.”
“She gets emotional.”
“She complains.”
“She doesn't understand money.”
Melissa added, “We've practically been taking care of her.”
I looked toward the laundry room where my sixty-six-year-old mother slept beside baskets of dirty clothes.
“Is that what you call this?”
Nobody answered.
I walked toward the hallway.
Melissa followed.
“Where are you going?”
“To find Dad's lockbox.”
Derek moved quickly.
“Rachel.”
I stopped.
“What?”
His eyes were nervous now.
“We got rid of it.”
“Why?”
“It was old.”
“It was fireproof.”
“It was taking up space.”
“What was inside?”
He hesitated.
“Nothing important.”
My mother appeared behind us.
“My marriage certificate.”
Derek looked at her.
“Mom.”
“Your father's military papers.”
She swallowed.
“Our insurance policies.”
Then her voice became smaller.
“And the original documents Rachel gave me when she bought the house.”
Silence.
Melissa turned sharply toward her.
“What documents?”
Mom looked confused.
I watched Derek.
He knew.
He had always known.
Years earlier, when I purchased the property, I created a family trust on the advice of an attorney.
I was the trustee and legal owner through that trust.
Mom received lifetime occupancy rights.
She could live there for the rest of her life.
No one could remove her.
No one could sell the property without my authorization.
Derek had received a copy.
Apparently he had decided not to mention that detail to his wife.
I stepped closer to him.
“Where is the box?”
“I told you.”
“You're lying.”
Melissa scoffed.
“Stop accusing my husband.”
I looked toward the garage.
Derek moved to block me.
That confirmed everything.
I walked around him.
He grabbed my arm.
“Don't.”
I looked down at his hand.
Slowly, he let go.
In the garage, shelves were stacked with storage bins.
I started searching.
Mom stood in the doorway.
Then she pointed.
“There.”
Behind a pile of Christmas decorations was a rectangular patch of dust.
Something heavy had been sitting there recently.
I looked at Derek.
“You didn't throw it away.”
He said nothing.
Melissa suddenly picked up her phone.
I saw her typing.
Then my own phone buzzed.
It was a message from an unknown number.
I opened it.
There was one photograph.
It showed Dad's blue lockbox sitting on a desk.
Beside it was a stack of documents.
May you like
And written across the picture were six words.
THEY'RE TRYING TO STEAL YOUR HOUSE.
