“Yes.”
“You discussed Greenhaven.”
His eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He stared at his hands.
“Sarah said the house was getting expensive. She said if we could control it, we could refinance, pay our debts, help her parents, and still take care of you.”
“You planned to borrow against my house.”
“We would have paid it back.”
“With what?”
He didn’t answer.
“How much debt?”
“About a hundred and sixty thousand.”
The anger I’d felt earlier disappeared.
What replaced it was exhaustion.
“From what?”
“Credit cards. Taxes. A business investment.”
“What business?”
He looked toward the stairs.
The year before, Sarah had convinced him to invest in a luxury home-staging company.
She had told everyone it was thriving.
“The company failed,” Lucas said. “Her parents guaranteed part of the loan. They borrowed against their apartment.”
I stared at him.
“So the landlord story wasn’t true.”
He shook his head.
“They lost the apartment because of the business.”
The reason for the moving truck became clear.
Linda and Bill had not simply been forced out by an unreasonable landlord.
They had put their own home at risk for Sarah’s company.
My property was supposed to absorb what came next.
“What about Saturday?” I asked.
Lucas’s hands tightened together.
“The housewarming?”
“Yes.”
He looked miserable.
“People from the business were invited. Two investors. Some neighbors. Former clients.”
“Why?”
“She wanted people to think the company had merged with a family property operation.”
I looked at the trust document.
Bennett Family Holdings.
My house had been turned into the foundation of a business story I had never heard.
“Did she use my address on company paperwork?”
Lucas nodded.
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
For once, I believed him.
It didn’t make the truth better.
Sarah came downstairs with two suitcases.
She had changed clothes.
Her face was controlled again.
“I’ll stay with a friend.”
Lucas didn’t look at her.
She stopped beside him.
“Are you coming?”
He remained seated.
“Lucas.”
He raised his eyes.
“Did you take the money?”
Her expression sharpened.
“We took it.”
“No. Did you initiate the transfers?”
“You knew we needed it.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Sarah looked at me.
“You’ve turned him against me.”
“No,” I said. “I stopped answering for him.”
She extended the suitcase handle.
“You think you’ve won because your name is on the deed.”
“I don’t think I’ve won.”
“Good. By Monday, half the neighborhood will know you threw your son and his wife into the street.”
There it was.
Once the facts stopped serving her, reputation became the next weapon.
I opened the fireproof box and removed a slim digital recorder.
Sarah stared at it.
“I started recording when I came downstairs at seven.”
Her face emptied.
“You can’t record private conversations.”
“In Pennsylvania, private audio recording generally requires consent from all parties,” I said.
Lucas looked confused.
I placed the recorder on the table.
“Which is why this was never switched on.”
Sarah frowned.
Then I removed a small black camera unit from the box.
“The security system Lucas installed last year records the foyer, living room, driveway and kitchen.”
Sarah looked toward the ceiling.
A tiny camera above the bookcase blinked.
“You told me it only recorded when the alarm was armed.”
“I told you I didn’t know how it worked.”
At the time, that had been true.
After Sarah began asking unusual questions about my will, I called the security company and learned how the system operated.
The recordings were automatic.