Chapter 3 - The Gathering of the Wolves
By 10:00 the following morning, the front driveway of 412 Maplewood Drive was bathed in crisp autumn sunlight.
Inside the dining room, an atmosphere of smug triumph prevailed. My mother had prepared a lavish brunch of eggs Benedict, fresh melon, and mimosas to celebrate the formal delivery of Austin’s new brokerage promotional banners.
Sheila sat at the head of the table, wearing a brand-new diamond pendant Austin had purchased with the equity loan drawn against my house, laughing loudly as she showed Abigail photos of customized nurseries featured in home design magazines.
My father, Lawrence, was reading the local real estate section, nodding with paternal pride as he looked at Austin’s headshot featured in a quarter-page advertisement for prime commercial lots.
"A boy from this family, making five figures a month before thirty," Lawrence declared, tapping the newspaper with his knuckles. "That’s what discipline looks like. Not throwing your life away in county lockups."
Austin beamed, pouring himself another glass of orange juice. "The regional developer called me at nine. They're finalizing the commercial easement contract on the downtown transit center today. That deal alone clears eighty thousand dollars in commissions. We'll be able to put an in-ground pool in the backyard by June."
The front doorbell rang.
Not a polite, gentle tap.
Three heavy, authoritative thuds that vibrated through the leaded glass panels of the foyer.
Sheila frowned, setting her fork down. "Who is that? Austin, did you order furniture delivery already?"
"Probably the courier with the contract packets," Austin said, grinning as he stood up, smoothing his tailored blazer. "Let me go sign for them."
He walked briskly to the foyer and pulled the door wide open.
Standing on the front porch was not a courier.
Flanking the entrance were two uniformed officers from the Columbus Police Department, accompanied by an investigator from the Franklin County Prosecutor's Office carrying a heavy leather briefcase.
And standing directly between them was Marcus Vance, senior attorney for the State Licensing Board, holding a certified warrant stamped with the gold seal of the Franklin County Court of Common Pleas.
Behind them, standing at the base of the porch steps with my battered suitcase at my feet, was me.
Austin’s grin froze, then shattered like brittle glass. "What... what is this? Officer, is there a problem?"
Marcus Vance stepped across the threshold without waiting for an invitation. "Austin Cole?"
"Yes... but what's going on?"
"I am Investigator Marcus Vance, appearing on behalf of the Special Prosecutions Bureau and the Ohio Department of Commerce," Vance stated in a clear, resonant baritone that carried straight into the dining room. "We are executing an immediate investigative subpoena and emergency suspension of real estate license number 449018, pursuant to evidence of criminal fraud, perjury, and vehicular assault."
The clinking of silverware in the dining room stopped instantly.
My mother rushed into the foyer, wiping her hands on a cloth, her face pale. "What are you talking about?! My son is an honorable businessman! Summer, what did you do?! Did you call the police on your own brother out of jealousy?!"
Sheila appeared behind her, holding her stomach, her voice rising into a shrill, hysterical shriek. "Get off our porch! My husband owns this house! I’m pregnant! You can’t harass us like this!"
"Actually, Mrs. Cole," Vance replied, pulling a laminated court document from his folder and holding it in front of Sheila's face. "The deed recorded on this property yesterday afternoon was flagged by the county recorder's fraud unit at eight o'clock this morning. Your husband used a forged power of attorney signature bearing Summer Cole’s name dated while she was actively incarcerated at Marysville."
Lawrence came shuffling down the hall, his face purple with rage. "You can't prove that! I signed the deed transfer as head of household!"
"A head of household cannot sign away fifty thousand dollars in verified equity belonging to an adult co-signee without power of attorney, Mr. Cole," the investigator said coldly. "And that is merely the civil fraud component."
Austin backed away toward the living room, his hands trembling violently. "Summer... Summer, tell them to stop. We’re family! Why are you doing this to me?!"
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I stepped across the threshold of the house, looking straight into the terrified, cowardly eyes of the brother I had spent two years protecting.
"You told me last night that an ex-con’s word is worthless against a licensed broker, Austin," I said, pulling my phone from my pocket. "So I decided not to use my words."
