Chapter 4 - The Intrusion
I moved with a sudden, desperate speed that surprised even myself.
I slid the pelican case back into the cavity beneath the workbench, grabbed the tactical flashlight, the satellite phone, and the thick ledger, and slid the wooden bench panel shut just as the heavy garage door swung open.
A bright beam of light from the kitchen spilled across the concrete floor.
Grant stood in the doorway, framed by the warm yellow light. He held a plastic cup of water and a single white pill in his hand.
His face was pale, his eyes nervous and bloodshot.
He looked around the dark garage until his eyes landed on me, lying near the base of the workbench, clutching my injured leg.
"Camille," he said softly, his voice trembling slightly. "I brought your pain medication."
I didn't answer him. I kept my hand hidden beneath my body, pinning the satellite phone and Ruth’s letter securely against my ribs.
Grant stepped down onto the concrete, letting the door click shut behind him, though he didn't lock it this time.
He crouched beside me, setting the cup of water on the floor.
"Look, Camille," Grant whispered, refusing to meet my eyes directly. "You need to cooperate with Mom. She’s just trying to get the house organized. Once the loan documents are finalized, we can move you back upstairs."
"The loan documents," I said, my voice raspy and dry as dust.
"I need to refi the property, Camille," Grant stammered, rubbing his forehead with his thumb. "My firm... we had a bad quarter. If I can't put up three million in collateral by Friday morning, the board is going to initiate an emergency audit. They’ll ruin me."
"So you dragged me out of a hospital eleven minutes after surgery..." I whispered, "...so your mother could kick my crutch and throw me on a garage floor?"
Grant’s face twisted into an ugly, defensive scowl.
"Mom was just being practical!" he snapped, his voice rising. "You were being difficult! You always act like this house makes you better than us! It’s just old wood and stone, Camille!"
"It’s my grandmother’s home, Grant."
"It’s an asset!" he yelled, leaning over me. "An asset that is sitting here doing nothing while my life falls apart! All you have to do is sign the power of attorney form Mom drafted. That’s it! Then you get your bed, your medicine, and your life back!"
I looked into his eyes.
The man I had spent nine years of my life with. The man I had cooked dinner for, supported through three failed business ventures, and loved with every corner of my heart.
There was nothing left of him. Just a desperate, greedy boy controlled by a ruthless mother.
"Where is the form, Grant?" I asked quietly.
Grant took a deep breath, visibly relieved, thinking he had broken my spirit.
"Mom has it upstairs," he said smoothly. "She’s having her lawyer review it right now. Just take your pill, get some sleep, and in the morning, we’ll sign everything and fix this."
He handed me the white pill and the plastic cup.
I took the pill, placed it under my tongue without swallowing, and took a small sip of water.
"Thank you, Grant," I whispered, letting my eyes drop as if I were slipping into unconsciousness.
"Good girl," Grant said, patting my shoulder awkwardly. "We’re going to be fine, Camille. You’ll see."
He stood up, walked back to the kitchen door, stepped through, and locked the deadbolt behind him.
The garage plunged into darkness once again.
May you like
I immediately spat the pain pill out onto the concrete floor.
I clicked on the satellite tactical flashlight, pulled out the encrypted satellite phone from beneath my gown, and dialed the emergency number Ruth had written on the back of her letter.
