Chapter 12 - Allison Speaks Out
The tidal wave hit on a rainy Monday morning in early May.
I was at my office at Hanover Medical Center when my phone buzzed with an incoming call from Allison. Her voice was frantic, breathless, and laced with absolute panic.
“Grant! Thank god you answered!” Allison cried, the sound of slamming doors echoing in the background. “You need to come over to the house right now. All hell has broken loose.”
“Allison, calm down. What happened?” I asked, standing up from my desk.
“The bank officials just showed up with sheriff deputies,” she sobbed. “They slapped foreclosure notices and asset seizure warrants on the front door. Eric is screaming at Judith, Judith is having a full hysterical breakdown on the living room floor screaming that everyone is ungrateful, and the police are trying to keep them from destroying the furniture!”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose, letting out a long, heavy sigh. “Where are you and Caleb?”
“We’re in my car down the street. I packed our bags last night. I’m done, Grant. I’m filing for divorce this afternoon. I can’t live like this anymore.”
“Listen to me, Allison,” I said firmly, my voice cutting through her panic. “Drive straight to my house on Elm Street. Dad is there, Maisie is at school, and you and Caleb will be safe. I’ll leave work right now and come deal with this.”
When I pulled up to 1442 Maplewood Lane twenty minutes later, the scene was absolute chaos.
A pair of local police cruisers were parked awkwardly across the circular driveway. Yellow police tape fluttered around the front porch columns. Several bank representatives in sharp suits stood near the doorway holding clipboards while my mother—dressed in a silk bathrobe and curlers—stood on the front steps shrieking at the top of her lungs.
“This is my home! You can’t do this! I am Judith Lawson! I run this community!” she screamed, her face purple with unbridled rage.
Eric stood beside her, looking like a ghost, his designer sweater rumpled and his hair unkempt. When he spotted my car pulling up to the curb, his eyes bulged with sheer, irrational hatred.
“You!” Eric bellowed, storming across the lawn toward my driver’s side door as I stepped out. “This is your fault! You and that pathetic old man ruined everything!”
I stood my ground, leaning calmly against the door frame. I didn't flinch, I didn't raise my voice, and I didn't back down an inch.
“My fault, Eric?” I asked quietly, looking him dead in the eye. “I haven't set foot on this property in four months. You and Mother built a house of cards out of lies, debt, and stolen inheritances. Gravity finally caught up.”
Eric raised his fist, lunging forward with a snarl of blind rage—
Before he could take another step, a tall, burly sheriff’s deputy grabbed Eric by the shoulder, spinning him around and slapping steel handcuffs onto his wrists with a sharp, metallic click.
“Whoa, buddy, back up! Keep your hands to yourself or you’re spending the afternoon in a holding cell,” the deputy warned gruffly.
May you like
Eric shrieked in humiliation as he was guided toward the back of the cruiser, his expensive designer sneakers dragging uselessly through the gravel driveway.
My mother watched her golden child get arrested from the front steps, let out a piercing, tragic gasp, and promptly collapsed backward into the arms of a startled bank executive.
