Chapter 4 - The Midnight Ultimatum
By seven o'clock that evening, Cara and I were back in our own home, three miles away from the chaos of my parents' living room. Our small, quiet bungalow felt like a sanctuary. Cara had helped me into our recliner, propping my swollen legs on pillows and making sure my antibiotic IV pump was humming steadily on its stand.
Neither of us had spoken much since leaving the shower. Cara sat at the dining table, methodically writing thank-you notes to the friends who had dropped off gifts before the party exploded. Every few minutes, she would pause, stare out into the darkness of the backyard, and let out a long, heavy sigh.
""I called my uncle Arthur,"" I said, breaking the silence.
Cara turned around. Uncle Arthur was my late grandmother’s younger brother, a retired real estate attorney who had lived in Chicago for forty years. He was the only member of our extended family who had refused to speak to my mother after Grandma passed away.
""What did Arthur say?"" Cara asked softly.
""He said Grandma called him three weeks before she died,"" I replied, my voice hoarse. ""She told him she suspected Garrett was skimming money from her checking account to fund his online trading. She wanted to remove him as executor and name me instead. But she had a stroke before she could sign the codicil.""
Cara walked over, resting her hands gently on my shoulders. ""Reed, your incision is inflamed. You're running a slight fever again. If you push yourself tomorrow, you could end up back in the ICU. Let Uncle Arthur send a local proxy attorney to court. You don't have to face them.""
""No,"" I said, looking up at her. ""If I don't show up, Mom will produce a forged consent or convince the judge that I'm incapacitated and that Garrett should remain administrator. I have to be there. For our baby. For Grandma.""
Before Cara could reply, a loud, aggressive pounding shook our front door.
Cara flinched, instinctively placing a hand over her pregnant belly. ""Don't get up,"" she whispered.
The knocking came again, followed by the sound of a fist slamming against the wood. ""Reed! Open the damn door! I know you're in there!""
It was Garrett.
Cara went to the window, pulling back the blind just an inch. ""He’s alone,"" she whispered. ""He looks drunk, Reed.""
""Call the police, Cara,"" I said calmly. ""Don't open it.""
""Reed!"" Garrett’s voice was muffled through the heavy wood, cracking with hysterical rage. ""You think you're so holy! You think you're better than everyone because you got a degree and bought a house! You've been trying to bring me down our entire lives! Grandma loved me more than she ever loved you, and it ate you alive!""
Cara dialed 911, her voice steady and clear as she gave the dispatcher our address and reported a trespasser attempting to force entry.
""Listen to me, you coward!"" Garrett yelled, kicking the bottom of the door. ""If you show up at that courthouse tomorrow, I’ll tell the judge you stole Grandma's jewelry! I took pictures of her empty vanity before we cleaned the house out! I'll tell the police you hocked her diamond wedding rings while she was in hospice! You won't just ruin my life—I’ll drag you down with me!""
Suddenly, another set of headlights swept across our living room blinds, followed by the screech of tires in our driveway.
We heard car doors slam, then my father's booming voice: ""Garrett! Get your hands off that door right now! Get in the car!""
""Get off me, Dad!"" Garrett screamed.
A scuffle ensued on our front porch. Through the window, we could see shadows wrestling against the porch light. My father, who had avoided confrontation for sixty years, shoved his golden son backward down the steps, sending Garrett sprawling onto the lawn.
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""You have disgraced this family for the last time!"" Dad shouted, his voice breaking. ""You are not going to harass your brother while he is recovering from surgery! Get in the truck before I let the cops arrest you on this lawn!""
In the distance, the faint wail of a police siren began echoing down our street. Garrett scrambled to his feet, glanced wildly toward the sound, jumped into his sports car, and sped away, tires squealing against the asphalt. Dad stood in the driveway under the yellow streetlamp, his head bowed, looking utterly broken as the blue and red lights approached.
