Chapter 4 - The Midnight Delegation
I opened the front door, expecting to see David testing the new deadbolt.
Instead, standing on the wet porch under the dim light of the porch lamp, were my brother Mason and my Uncle Richard.
Mason wore his leather jacket, his hands casually shoved into his pockets, an expression of annoyance on his face. Uncle Richard, a wealthy retired corporate accountant who had always been my mother’s chief enforcer within the extended family, stood beside him with a rolled-up umbrella.
"Julian," Uncle Richard began, his tone dripping with patronizing authority. "Why is a locksmith working on the front door at midnight? Your mother is beside herself with worry at the estate."
I stood in the doorway, blocking the entrance with my shoulders. "What are you doing here, Mason?"
Mason chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "Come on, man. Stop being so dramatic. Mom just wanted us to come back and pick up her purse. You made a huge scene over dinner over nothing. Hannah had an emotional breakdown because of her hormones, and you acted like someone got murdered."
I looked at my younger brother—the boy I had protected from our father’s temper, the brother I had paid college tuition for out of my own savings.
"Hannah is in the hospital, Mason," I said, my voice flat and unyielding. "She has a bruised jaw, lacerations in her mouth, and elevated stress levels that almost put her into premature labor."
Mason’s smile faltered slightly, but he quickly recovered his defensive smirk. "She panicked! Mom was just trying to teach her a traditional recipe! Hannah threw a fit, knocked over her water glass, and slipped under the table herself! I tried to hold her steady so she wouldn't hurt the baby!"
"You took her phone," I said, stepping closer to him until I was inches from his face. "You locked the back door from the inside so she couldn't escape."
Mason’s jaw tightened. "She was hysterical! I was preventing her from running out into the rain in her condition!"
"Where is her phone, Mason?" I demanded.
Mason reached into his leather coat pocket and pulled out Hannah’s white iPhone. "Here! Take it! We weren't trying to steal her damn phone, Julian! We were trying to protect this family from another one of her embarrassing public outbursts!"
Uncle Richard stepped between us, raising his hand in a commanding gesture.
"Julian, listen to reason," Uncle Richard said sternly. "Your mother has carried this family since your father died. She built the business, she secured the real estate, and she holds our social standing together. Hannah is an outsider from a lower-class background who does not respect our traditions. If she files a police report, it will ruin your brother’s career at the law firm and destroy your mother’s reputation."
"My mother forced fish bones down my pregnant wife's throat while you all stood there and watched," I said, my eyes burning with raw, absolute contempt.
"It was a symbolic family correction!" Uncle Richard snapped, dropping his polite facade. "In our tradition, a wife who disrespects the matriarch is offered the bones of the meal to remind her of her place! It has been done in our family for three generations!"
"Your tradition is felony domestic assault," I said cold as ice.
I reached out, snatched Hannah’s phone from Mason’s hand, and pulled out my own phone.
"David," I called out to the locksmith inside. "Are the new locks secured?"
"All set, Mr. Vance," David replied from the foyer. "High-security smart keypads installed, physical keys recoded, and master override codes set to your mobile device."
I looked back at Mason and Uncle Richard.
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"If either of you, or my mother, or anyone else from this family sets foot on this driveway again," I said, pulling the heavy oak front door shut, "the police officers currently reviewing the hospital security footage will arrest you for trespassing and criminal conspiracy."
I slammed the door, turned the new heavy-duty steel deadbolt, and heard the loud, satisfying CLICK of the lock engaging.
