Chapter 3 - The Locks Are Changed
Thirty minutes later, two vehicles pulled up the long gravel driveway.
The first was a sleek black sedan driven by Marcus Thorne. The second was a bright yellow van belonging to Metro Security & Locksmith Services.
Inside the house, chaos was underway. Olivia was furiously packing suitcases upstairs, screaming at Nathan, while Nathan paced the living room floor like a trapped animal, pouring himself heavy glasses of my vintage bourbon.
I stood on the front porch to meet Marcus. He was a broad-shouldered man in his late sixties with silver hair and eyes that had spent forty years seeing through criminal excuses. He carried a thick leather briefcase.
"Arthur," Marcus said, taking my hand in a firm, solid grip. "Are you alright?"
"I'm alive, Marcus," I replied. "That's about the best I can say right now."
Marcus looked past me toward the open front door, where Nathan could be seen pacing. "I brought the paperwork. I filed an emergency lis pendens with the county clerk twenty minutes ago the moment you told me about the forgery. That property transfer is officially frozen pending a criminal fraud investigation. They can't touch a single dollar of equity."
"Good," I said. "Change every lock on the property. Main house, garage, shed, basement. Then I want a commercial security system installed with facial recognition on the perimeter."
"You got it," Marcus turned to the locksmith, a young man named Dave. "Dave, start with the front door, then do the back perimeter. Go."
Dave got to work immediately, pulling heavy brass lock cylinders and power drills from his van.
When the whine of the power drill echoed through the entryway, Nathan came rushing out onto the porch, his face bright red, holding his glass of bourbon.
"What the hell is this?!" Nathan yelled. "Dad, you can't change the locks on us! We live here!"
Marcus stepped smoothly into Nathan's path, his imposing legal presence instantly stopping my son in his tracks. "Nathan Vance?"
"Who the hell are you?!" Nathan demanded.
"I am Marcus Thorne, senior partner at Thorne, Sterling & Associates, representing your father, Arthur Vance," Marcus said calmly, handing Nathan a thick manila envelope. "You are being formally served with an Emergency Restraining Order, an Order of Formal Eviction, and a Notice of Civil Litigation for Deed Fraud and Grand Larceny."
Nathan's glass slipped from his fingers, crashing onto the porch bricks and shattering into a hundred pieces. Bourbon splashed over his leather shoes.
"Eviction?!" Nathan stuttered. "You... you can't evict us! State law requires thirty days written notice for residential tenants!"
"Under normal circumstances, yes," Marcus replied with a cold, professional smile. "However, under Section 402 of the State Civil Code, when a co-habitant engages in criminal forgery, destruction of personal property, and elder financial abuse, the property owner is entitled to an immediate Ex Parte Order of Protection removing the offending parties from the premises within three hours."
Olivia came stomping down the grand staircase, dragging a oversized designer suitcase behind her. "What is going on down here?! Nathan, call my mother's attorney right now!"
"Your mother's attorney can't help you, Mrs. Vance," Marcus called up to her. "Unless your mother's attorney is prepared to post a five-hundred-thousand-dollar bail bond when the State Police financial crimes unit executes the arrest warrant for deed forgery tomorrow morning."
Olivia stopped on the stairs, her jaw dropping open. "Arrest warrant?!"
"The signature on that quitclaim deed was notarized by a notary public named Kevin Sterling," Marcus continued, pulling a document from his briefcase. "We've already contacted Mr. Sterling. When threatened with the loss of his state license, Mr. Sterling confessed in a sworn affidavit that Nathan paid him fifteen hundred dollars in cash to notarize the document without Arthur Vance being present."
Olivia turned on Nathan like a cornered viper. "You told me the notary was your cousin's friend who did it as a favor! You paid him cash?!"
"Olivia, shut up!" Nathan panicked, looking around at the locksmith who was actively screwing a new digital deadbolt into the front doorframe.
"You have two hours," I said, stepping forward and speaking directly to my son. "Pack your clothes, your personal electronics, and your vehicles. Leave everything else. Leave Margaret's furniture that you moved to the garage. Leave the silver. If I catch either of you carrying a single item out of this house that belonged to me or your mother before you moved in, I will have the deputy sheriff standing down the street take you into custody instantly."
"Dad... please," Nathan wept, dropping his hands to his sides, completely stripped of his arrogant front. "Where are we supposed to go? We spent all our cash on Olivia's party and her mother's business launch!"
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I looked at my son—the boy I'd taught to fish on the Chesapeake Bay, the boy whose college tuition I'd paid in full so he wouldn't start life with debt, the boy who had sat across a birthday table hours ago and told me I wasn't invited to sit in my own home.
"You can go stay with Diane," I said softly. "I hear she has plenty of room."
