Chapter 2: The House Is Ours
The doorknob rattled again.
“Lucas!”” my mother shouted.
“Open the door!””
I slid the notebook beneath my sweater.
Then I turned the lock.
The study door swung open.
My mother stood in the hallway wearing a cream coat that looked more expensive than the entire kitchen.
Behind her stood my father.
And behind them stood my younger sister, Claire.
I had never met her.
She looked about twenty-seven.
She stared at me like I was an inconvenience.
Claire walked past Mom without waiting.
“I call the master bedroom.””
She disappeared toward the stairs.
I looked at my mother.
She lifted two black trash bags.
“Start packing.””
I stared at them.
“Excuse me?””
“You heard me.””
“This is my home.””
She gave a cold little laugh.
“No. It was your grandfather’s home.””
Dad stepped forward.
“The title belongs to family.””
“I'm family.””
“You're Arthur’s dependent.””
My fingers tightened.
Mom tossed the bags at my feet.
“You were his burden. The house is ours now.””
I looked down at the black plastic.
For one second, I was five again.
Three bags.
A stuffed rabbit.
A car disappearing into the distance.
Then I noticed the red ink on Mom’s fingernails.
She was still wearing the same shade of nail polish from the photograph in Arthur’s study.
Something inside me went very still.
“Did you come here before the funeral?”” I asked.
Her expression flickered.
“No.””
I held her eyes.
“Then how did you know where the master bedroom was?””
Silence.
Dad stepped between us.
“Don't make this difficult.””
“You left me here twenty-five years ago.””
“We're not discussing the past.””
“You brought trash bags.””
Mom sighed.
“We're trying to make this simple.””
Claire came downstairs.
“Mom, the bedroom furniture is mine.””
Mom smiled.
“Of course.””
I looked at Claire.
“You knew about me?””
She shrugged.
“I knew Grandpa had some weird family situation.””
“Did they ever tell you why I lived here?””
Claire rolled her eyes.
“They said you were difficult.””
That hurt less than it should have.
Arthur had taught me not to build my identity around other people's lies.
But the timing made my stomach turn.
I reached into my pocket.
My fingers touched the brass key.
“Mom,” I said, “how did you know Grandpa didn't leave the house to me?””
Her face changed.
Only for a second.
Then she smiled.
“He told us.””
“No, he didn't.””
Dad's voice hardened.
“Watch your tone.””
I laughed.
It surprised all of us.
“Twenty-five years,” I said.
“You don't get to walk in with a moving truck and tell me how to speak.””
My father pointed toward the study.
“What were you doing in there?””
I said nothing.
Mom's gaze went straight to the brass key hanging from my fingers.
Her face went white.
“Where did you get that?””
I closed my fist.
“Grandpa gave it to me.””
Mom took a step backward.
Dad whispered something in her ear.
I heard only two words.
“He found it.””
Mom shook her head.
“He couldn't have.””
I stared at them.
“Found what?””
Neither answered.
The truck outside kept running.
I walked to the front window.
Two movers were standing beside a stack of empty boxes.
Dad followed me.
“Sign these.””
He held out papers.
I looked at the top page.
*Notice of Property Transfer.*
My name wasn't on it.
Neither was Arthur's.
Instead, it listed an LLC I'd never heard of.
*Ridgeway Family Holdings.*
I looked up.
“What is this?””
Dad's face hardened.
“Old paperwork.””
“Why is an LLC taking my grandfather's house?””
“It's complicated.””
“No. It isn't.””
I raised the paper.
“This isn't a deed.””
Mom walked over.
Her voice suddenly softened.
“Lucas, sweetheart.””
I almost flinched at the word.
“Don't.””
She stopped.
“Your grandfather was sick. He wasn't thinking clearly.””
“He was dying, not confused.””
Dad grabbed my wrist.
I pulled away.
“Don't touch me.””
Mom's voice sharpened again.
“You've had this house long enough.””
I stared at her.
“You haven't been here for twenty-five years.””
She shrugged.
“That doesn't make you the owner.””
The doorbell rang.
One of the movers opened the front door before anyone invited him in.
“Where should we start?””
Mom pointed upstairs.
“The bedrooms.””
I stepped in front of him.
“No.””
He looked uncomfortable.
“Ma'am?””
My father said, “Go ahead.””
The mover took one step.
Then I pulled out my phone.
“I've already called the police.””
Dad froze.
Mom's mouth tightened.
“You wouldn't.””
“I just did.””
Claire crossed her arms.
“This is ridiculous.””
“No,” I said.
“This is trespassing.””
Mom looked at me for several seconds.
Then she smiled.
Not warmly.
Not kindly.
Like someone who had just found an unexpected piece on a chessboard.
“You really think you're protected?””
I didn't answer.
She walked toward the front door.
As she passed, she leaned close enough for only me to hear.
“Arthur promised me he'd never open that office.””
I felt the blood drain from my face.
She stepped outside.
Before leaving, she turned.
“And now you've opened it.””
The door slammed.
I stood perfectly still.
Then I grabbed the 2001 notebook.
I flipped through the pages until I found another entry.
*September 3. R came again. Asked about the trust. Threatened to take the house when Arthur was gone.*
Below it was a name.
Not my mother's.
My father's.
*Jonathan.*
And underneath:
*He believes the child knows nothing. Keep it that way.*
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One message.
*STOP READING.*
I stared at it.
A second message arrived.
*Your grandfather lied to you about one thing.*
May you like
Then:
*The man in the photograph is still alive.*
