Chapter 4 - The Locks on the Doors
The sun had barely broken over the tree line on Monday morning when Matthew’s truck pulled up to Hayes Auto and Tire on Industrial Boulevard. I followed right behind him in my crossover.
I was in uniform today—OCP fatigues, combat boots polished, hair pulled tight into a regulation bun. I wasn't there as a soldier on duty; I was there as Matthew's wife and equal partner, and in small Southern towns, visual presence matters. Bullies rely on shadows; they fall apart in broad daylight.
The gravel lot was quiet, but there was already an unfamiliar silver sedan parked by the front entrance.
Sitting on the concrete bumper of the bay door was Derek.
His right arm was encased in a thick, fiberglass splint from his knuckles to just below his elbow, held up by an electric-blue sling. His left hand gripped a large paper coffee cup. Standing beside him was Linda, clutching an oversized leather handbag and looking as though she hadn't slept a wink.
A burly man in gray coveralls with a heavy toolbox was working on the deadbolt of the main customer entrance. A mobile locksmith.
"Hold on," Matthew said, stepping out of the truck. His voice was calm, but his frame was rigid.
Linda snapped her head around. When she saw me step out of my car in uniform, her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. "You shouldn't be here, Matthew. I told you what would happen."
"You're changing the locks on my shop?" Matthew asked, walking steadily toward the bay doors.
"It’s not your shop!" Derek snarled, stepping forward. His face was blotchy, his eyes wild. He smelled like cigarettes and anger. "Dad left the property to Ma! You're just an employee, boy! And after what your crazy wife did to me on Saturday, you're fired!"
The locksmith stopped his drill, looking uncomfortably between Derek and Matthew. "Uh, ma'am, you told me the business partner was deceased."
"He's not a partner, he's an ex-worker who's trespassing!" Linda yelled at the tradesman. "Keep drilling!"
"Stop drilling," I said.
My voice wasn't loud, but it carried the parade-ground snap that makes nineteen-year-old recruits freeze mid-stride. The locksmith pulled his drill away from the brass plate and took two steps back.
"Don't take orders from her!" Linda hissed. "She doesn't own this!"
"No, but the state of Tennessee does," I said, walking up beside Matthew. I pulled a folded document from my pocket. "This is the protective order granted yesterday by the magistrate. Derek Hayes is legally barred from being within five hundred feet of Matthew Hayes, Rebecca Hayes, or Sophie Hayes."
Derek laughed, though it sounded shrill and nervous. "This is my place of work! That order doesn't apply to my job!"
"It applies everywhere, Derek," Matthew said, looking directly into his brother’s eyes without flinching. "Unless you have an exception granted by a judge in an official hearing, which you don't. You're within thirty feet of me right now. You are actively violating a Class A misdemeanor order."
Linda stepped between them, her chest heaving. "You would put your own brother in jail? After your wife crippled him?!"
"I didn't cripple him, Linda," I replied evenly. "I dislocated a joint to stop him from assaulting me. If he had complied with the order to let go, his arm would be fine. And if he doesn't get into that car in sixty seconds, I am calling the sheriff to enforce the perimeter."
Derek looked at Linda, the bluster draining from his posture. "Ma... do something."
"Matthew, please," Linda said, her tone suddenly shifting, dropping into the manipulative, theatrical whimper she always used when cornered. "Think about your father. Big Tom built this place with his bare hands. He would roll in his grave if he saw you turning against your blood. We can drop the charges against each other. Derek won't press charges on Rebecca if you drop the battery against him. We can pretend Saturday never happened."
Matthew looked at the weathered sign above the bays: *HAYES AUTO & TIRE - FOUNDED 1994*.
He had spent his youth in those bays. He had swept metal shavings off that concrete when he was twelve. He had memorized the torque specs of every engine that rolled through those doors.
"Dad would be ashamed of you, Ma," Matthew said, and the absolute finality in his voice made Linda flinch. "Dad would have beaten Derek within an inch of his life if he ever saw him pour liquor on a child. You ruined him. You excused everything he did, and you turned him into a monster."
Matthew looked at the locksmith. "Mister, this business operating license is filed under my Master ASE certification. If you change those locks without my signature on the work order, you're liable for illegal lockout under commercial tenancy law."
The locksmith immediately packed his drill into his case. "Look, lady, I don't get paid enough for this family drama. Call someone else." He turned on his heel and walked toward his van.
"Derek," Matthew said coldly. "Get in your truck and leave. Because the next person who steps onto this lot is the county deputy."
Derek cursed under his breath, stumbling as he backed toward his pickup. "You're dead to me, Matt! You hear me?! You're nothing without this shop!"
"Get in the truck, Derek," Linda hissed, panic finally cracking through her composure as she realized the leverage had completely evaporated.
They scrambled into their vehicles, tires kicking up dust as they tore out of the gravel driveway.
Matthew let out a long, ragged breath, his shoulders trembling. He turned toward the double glass doors of the office, his keys jangling in his hand.
May you like
"Come on," he said to me. "Let's check the books."
***
