Chapter 8 - The Garden Gate
I ran through the French doors.
Rain had begun to fall.
The garden lights flashed on and off as the backup system struggled. Footprints crossed the lawn toward the hedge. One set belonged to a man in dress shoes.
The other dragged.
“Mom!”
No answer.
Naomi called the police. Adrian followed me with one investigator. Behind us, guests crowded the patio while Judge Harlan ordered everyone to remain inside.
Near the rose arbor, I found Mom’s blue scarf caught on a thorn.
Beyond it, the garden gate stood open.
A black SUV idled in the service lane.
Derek shoved Mom into the rear seat.
I ran toward them.
He saw me and froze.
For one second, we were children again.
Derek had broken a window.
I had caught him.
He had smiled and said, You will not tell.
This time, he did not smile.
He pulled Mom against his chest and pressed something metallic to her side.
“Stop,” he said.
I stopped.
Rain ran into my eyes.
“Let her go.”
“She is the only person who can fix this.”
“She cannot.”
“She can sign.”
“Everyone knows she was coerced.”
“Not if she says she lied.”
Mom looked at me.
Her fear was visible, but beneath it was something new.
Defiance.
Derek tightened his grip.
“Tell her to give me the ledger.”
Mom said, “No.”
His face twisted.
“What?”
“No.”
He looked down at her as if a piece of furniture had spoken.
She continued.
“You made me believe I had no family. You made me eat in a locked room. You made me apologize for being alive.”
“Mom, do not do this.”
“You are not my son tonight.”
The words struck him harder than any weapon could have.
Police sirens approached.
Derek dragged her toward the SUV.
I opened the yellow folder and removed the certified deed.
“Here.”
He stopped.
“I will give you the house papers.”
Naomi shouted from behind me, “Iris, no.”
I held up the deed.
“You need this more than the ledger.”
Derek stared at it.
“Bring it here.”
“Release Mom first.”
“You think I am stupid?”
“I think you are desperate.”
He moved the metal object from Mom’s side.
It was not a gun.
It was a tire iron.
He raised it.
Mom suddenly drove her heel onto his foot.
Derek shouted.
She twisted away.
I ran forward.
He swung the iron.
Adrian tackled him from the side.
All four of us fell into the wet grass.
The deed slipped from my hand.
Derek grabbed it.
He pushed Adrian away, lunged into the SUV, and slammed the door.
The vehicle accelerated.
Police cars entered the service lane seconds later.
Too late.
Mom collapsed against me.
“He took the deed,” she whispered.
“A certified copy.”
“Will it help him?”
“No.”
But Adrian looked worried.
“What?” I asked.
“The deed was not what he wanted.”
“What was?”
“The blue ribbon attached to your mother’s key.”
Mom touched her pocket.
Empty.
The ribbon had been tied around the key earlier.
During the struggle, it had fallen.
Derek had taken it with the deed.
Adrian explained as officers searched the lane.
“The ribbon contains a woven numerical sequence. Your father used it as the second factor for the blue account.”
“How much is in the account?”
“Originally, seventeen million eight hundred forty thousand. With interest and recovered assets, more than twenty-six million.”
Mom stared at him.
“Whose money?”
“Iris’s. And evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“Every shell company Derek and Grant created.”
Naomi joined us.
“Can Derek access it?”
“He still needs the key.”
Mom opened her hand.
The brass key lay against her palm.
For the first time that night, Adrian smiled.
Then his phone rang.
His smile vanished.
He listened without speaking.
“What happened?” I asked.
He ended the call.
“Someone entered my office thirty minutes ago.”
“The records?”
“Gone.”
“Backups?”
“Also gone.”
“How?”
“They used my biometric authorization.”
“You were here.”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the black SUV’s fading tire marks.
“Which means North Meridian has someone with access to identities, accounts, and government systems.”
Mom took my hand.
A police officer approached carrying a wet envelope found near the gate.
My name was written across the front.
Inside was a single photograph.
It showed Dad in a hospital bed on the night he died.
Standing beside him was a woman whose face had been cut from the picture.
May you like
On the back, someone had written:
Your father did not die before he finished talking.
