Chapter 6: The Unwelcoming Committee
Diane’s text messages had become increasingly frantic, masking her panic with aggressive demands.
Remember the upstairs windows, Claire. The salt air makes them foggy.
Make sure you separate Caleb’s white dress shirts. Don’t ruin them again.
We are leaving the airport now. We’ll be home at 4:00 sharp. Have dinner ready.
At exactly 3:47 PM on Sunday afternoon, an unmarked black sedan pulled into my driveway. A man with a posture carved from granite stepped out. This was Thomas Reed, a retired county sheriff’s deputy who now worked as a private associate for Marcus Hale’s firm. Thomas adjusted his blazer, walked up the steps of the veranda, and took a relaxed but immovable position squarely in front of my mahogany double doors.
I stood by the upstairs window of the nursery, the room I had painted and furnished alone, and watched the street.
At 3:58 PM, the familiar silver SUV rolled through the gates.
It parked haphazardly in the driveway. Caleb climbed out of the driver’s side, laughing at something Brooke had said. He looked tanned, relaxed, and incredibly smug. Diane stepped out of the back, pushing her sunglasses up into her hair. She immediately looked up at the facade of the manor. I watched her notice the pristine, freshly washed windows. She smiled.
For exactly six seconds, standing in the late afternoon sun, they genuinely believed they had won. They believed the house was theirs, the money was theirs, and the pregnant woman inside was waiting to serve them.
Then, Caleb jogged up the steps. He didn’t even look at Thomas Reed, assuming he was a contractor or a delivery driver. Caleb pulled his heavy keychain from his pocket, selected the brass key, and jammed it into the lock.
He twisted. The lock refused to yield.
He jiggled it, frowned, and tried to force it. Nothing.
The vacation glow evaporated from his face, replaced by a dark, confused scowl. “What the hell?” he muttered, pulling the key out to inspect it.
Diane marched up the steps, shoving past her son. “Move, Caleb, you’re doing it wrong.” She pounded her fist against the heavy wood. “Claire! Open this door immediately! I am exhausted!”
Thomas Reed calmly reached out and turned the brass handle, pushing the door open just wide enough to block the threshold with his considerable frame.
Diane scoffed, looking Thomas up and down. “Who the hell are you? Where is my daughter-in-law?”
“You cannot come in, ma’am,” Thomas stated, his voice a deep, resonant baritone that commanded absolute compliance. “This property no longer belongs to your family.”
Diane’s face hardened into a mask of pure indignation. “Excuse me? Are you insane? My son lives here. This is our home.”
Thomas didn’t blink. “Not anymore.”
Caleb’s temper flared. He stepped forward, attempting to physically bridge the gap and push past the older man. “Look, buddy, I don’t know what kind of prank this is, but you need to step aside before I call the cops.”
Thomas didn’t retreat an inch. He simply raised one massive hand, palm facing outward. “Don’t do it, son. You will regret it.”
That was my cue.
It was time to introduce them to the architect of their demise.
