Chapter 5 - THE MORNING AFTER
The sun came up pale and gray over the rooftops of Queens, washing the kitchen in a cold, clinical light.
I was sitting at the oak table with a cup of black coffee when the front door swung open with a crash.
Stanley stood in the entryway, his tie undone, his hair disheveled, his eyes bloodshot and wide with manic desperation. Behind him walked Vanessa, her face blotchy from crying, her purse clutched against her chest like a shield.
“Rose!” Stanley shouted, marching straight into the kitchen. He slammed both palms onto the wooden table, leaning over me so close I could smell the stale whiskey on his breath. “Where is the token? Where is the security key for the primary server?”
I took a slow sip of my coffee. I didn't flinch. I didn't look down.
“Good morning, Stanley,” I said smoothly. “Did you have a nice drive?”
“Don’t play games with me, old woman!” he roared, his veneer of civility shattering completely. The panic had eaten through his charm, leaving only the cornered animal beneath. “The bank locked my corporate accounts at midnight! The federal marshal’s office called my lawyer an hour ago! They’re seizing everything—the cars, the office, the credit lines!”
“And you thought you could use my retirement to pay your bail?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Vanessa stepped into the kitchen, her eyes wide with terror. “Mom... please. He didn't mean it. We were just... we were in a tight spot. If you don't sign the release forms for the house, Stanley is going to federal prison.”
“Good,” I said.
The word dropped into the room like a lead weight.
Stanley straightened up, his face contorting into an ugly, sneering mask. “You think you’re smart, don't you? You think a little old lady sitting in a kitchen can outsmart a corporation? That house isn't yours anymore! I have the papers! I have your signature!”
“You have a photocopy,” I said.
I reached down beside my chair, picked up the yellowed envelope, and placed it squarely in the middle of the table.
Stanley’s eyes dropped to it. The color drained from his face until he looked like a corpse under fluorescent lights.
“Where... where did you get that?” he whispered.
May you like
“From under the floorboards,” I said, standing up from the table. My knees didn't ache. My back didn't hurt. For the first time in three years, I felt twenty feet tall. “Right where Robert told me to look before he died.”
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