Chapter 6 - The Sheriff’s Arrival
The tense standoff was broken by the crunch of heavy gravel outside. Another vehicle had pulled into the long driveway, its tires kicking up dust behind the idling moving van.
Through the dining room window, I saw the distinctive black-and-gold cruiser of Sheriff Thomas Brody. Behind it was a flatbed tow truck with the local municipal garage logo painted on the side.
Dad’s eyes darted toward the window, panic flashing across his features. "Why is Brody here? Harrison, what else did you do?"
"I didn't call the Sheriff, Richard," Mr. Vance replied smoothly, organizing his vellum pages back into their folder. "Clara didn't either. But when a commercial five-ton moving vehicle parks across a private county easement without a permit, and several concerned neighbors report unauthorized individuals attempting to breach a secured estate... well, Sheriff Brody tends to take his duties very seriously."
The heavy oak front door creaked open, followed by the firm, measured tread of steel-toed boots in the foyer. Sheriff Brody appeared in the dining room archway, his wide-brimmed hat held respectfully in his hand. He was an older man with weathered skin, a veteran of two terms in office, and someone who had played poker on Grandpa’s back porch every third Thursday for thirty years.
"Morning, Clara," Brody said, his eyes softening as he nodded to me. "I was sorry to hear about Arthur. Finest man this county ever produced."
"Thank you, Sheriff," I whispered.
Brody’s gaze turned cold as he took in the three people sitting across the table. "Richard. Eleanor. Can't say I expected to see you two in these parts. You missed the service yesterday. Preacher Dan gave a wonderful eulogy. Half the town showed up."
Dad swallowed hard, tugging at his collar. "We... our flight was delayed, Sheriff. We had urgent estate business to handle."
"Is that what you call it?" Brody walked over to the sideboard and picked up the two black plastic garbage bags Mom had dropped on the floor earlier. He dangled them between two fingers like contaminated evidence. "One of the movers outside told my deputy that you instructed them to clear the master bedroom and throw Clara's clothes into these."
Mom opened her mouth to speak, but Brody cut her off with a sharp glare that brooked no argument.
"Arthur Callahan came to my office two months ago, Richard," Brody said, his voice dropping into a dangerous rumble. "He sat in my visitor's chair, hooked up to an oxygen tank, and showed me a certified trespass warning signed by Judge Campbell. He instructed me that if anyone matching your description set foot on this property without Clara's written invitation, I was to treat it as an active criminal trespass."
Dad shot up from his chair. "A criminal trespass?! On my own father's land?!"
"It's not your father's land anymore, son," Brody said plainly. "It belongs to the Trust. And the sole trustee sitting in this room is Clara. So here is how the rest of this morning is going to go. That moving truck outside is currently blocking a designated fire lane. The tow driver is hooking up the front axle as we speak."
Outside, the loud hydraulic whine of the tow truck roared to life, accompanied by the desperate shouting of the moving crew as their truck was hoisted into the air.
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"No, wait!" Dad shouted, rushing toward the front window. "I paid a three-thousand-dollar cash deposit for that truck!"
"Then you'd better go settle up with the driver," Brody said calmly. "Because you have exactly ten minutes to get into your car and clear out of this township. If you're still within the county line by noon, I'll book all three of you into holding for criminal trespass and reckless endangerment."
