Chapter 6 - THE TRAP IS SPRUNG
Stuart pulled his BMW into the long gravel driveway of his mother's Victorian home, feeling a supreme sense of triumph.
In his leather briefcase on the passenger seat was a crisp, glossy brochure for Cedar Grove Memory Care, along with a stack of preliminary legal intake forms drafted by his shady attorney friend. He had spent the entire morning rehearsing his speech with Jennifer.
“Remember,” Jennifer said, adjusting her red lipstick in the visor mirror. “Don't be overly aggressive today. We do the gentle guilt-trip first. Tell her it’s for her own safety. If she resists, we mention the 'incident' with the turkey and tell her we’re worried about her emotional stability.”
“I know how to handle my own mother, Jen,” Stuart snorted, adjusting his silk tie. “She’s soft. She’s spent her whole life teaching six-year-olds how to play nice. She doesn't have the stomach for a real fight.”
They stepped out of the car, carrying a box of bakery pastries to pretend they were hosting a friendly visit.
They walked up the porch steps. Stuart reached into his pocket, pulled out his emergency brass key, and slotted it into the front door lock.
He turned the key. It clicked, but the door refused to budge.
Stuart frowned. He tried again, turning the key harder. It spun uselessly in the deadbolt slot.
“What the hell?” Stuart muttered, jiggling the brass handle. “She must have engaged the interior latch.”
He knocked loudly on the heavy oak door.
“Mom! It’s Stuart and Jennifer! Open up!”
No answer. Silence hung over the porch.
“Try the side door,” Jennifer suggested, her brows furrowing with annoyance. “She probably didn't hear you. She’s probably losing her hearing too.”
They walked around to the side mudroom entrance. Stuart tried his key again. It didn't even fit into the keyhole—the entire lock cylinder had been replaced with a modern, electronic smart lock.
Panicking slightly, Stuart walked over to the large parlor window and cupped his hands against the glass to look inside.
He froze. His jaw dropped.
The living room was completely empty.
The heavy Persian rugs were gone. The oak bookshelves were cleared out. The framed family portraits that had hung on the walls for thirty years had been removed, leaving faint dust squares on the paint.
“What... what is this?” Stuart stammered, stepping back.
Just then, a sleek grey SUV pulled into the driveway behind Stuart’s BMW.
A tall, well-dressed man in his late thirties stepped out of the driver's seat, holding a bag of groceries, followed by a woman and three excited young children who immediately began running around the front lawn.
Stuart marched over to the man, his face turning red. “Excuse me! Who are you? What are you doing on my mother's property?”
Edward Henderson paused, looking at Stuart with mild confusion, then pulled a set of keys from his pocket.
“Your mother’s property?” Edward asked calmly. “If you’re referring to Inez Vance, this isn't her property anymore. My wife and I bought this home on Saturday. Closing was finalized yesterday morning.”
Stuart felt the air get sucked out of his lungs. He felt like he had been struck in the stomach with a sledgehammer.
“You... you what?” Jennifer shrieked, marching over. “That’s impossible! This house belongs to my husband's family! She can't sell this house! She has severe cognitive decline! She doesn't have the legal authority!”
Edward’s eyes narrowed, his tone instantly hardening. “I don't know who you are, lady, but Mrs. Vance was entirely sharp, completely articulate, and represented by one of the top estate law firms in the state. The title is clear, the $820,000 cash payment has cleared, and this is now private property.”
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Edward pulled out his phone, clicking the screen open.
“Now, I suggest you get off my lawn before I call the local police department to report a trespass.”
