Chapter 9 - The Confrontation Downtown
The downtown high-rise where Garrett lived was all glass, chrome, and rented pretension. It was the kind of building that looked luxurious on a social media story, but had thin walls, broken elevators, and a lobby that smelled faintly of stale trash.
I bypassed the leasing office and rode the elevator up to the fourteenth floor.
When I reached Apartment 1408, the door was already cracked open. Inside, two large designer suitcases were sitting near the entryway, zipped shut.
Presley was standing by the kitchen island, mascara streaked down her cheeks, shoving the last of her clothes into a duffel bag. Mom was sitting at a glass dining table, looking smaller and more fragile than I had ever seen her. Her hands were shaking so violently that the teacup in front of her was clattering against the saucer.
“Craig?” Mom gasped, her voice trembling as I stepped inside.
“Presley,” I said, acknowledging Garrett’s soon-to-be ex-fiancée. “Are you all right?”
“I have an Uber coming in ten minutes,” Presley said, wiping her face. “The paperwork is on the table.”
I walked over to the glass table and picked up the thick manila folder resting in front of my mother.
I flipped to page three.
*“QUITCLAIM DEED AND ASSIGNMENT OF EQUITY INTEREST.”*
Right beneath it was a second contract: *“BRIDGE LOAN AGREEMENT: $250,000 AT 14.5% INTEREST.”*
If Mom had signed her name to these documents, Garrett would have legally owned fifty percent of the property instantly, allowing him to pull a quarter of a million dollars out of the walls. With his spending habits, the house would have been in foreclosure within nine months.
“Do you know what this is, Mom?” I asked, holding the papers up.
Mom swallowed hard. She wouldn't look at my face; she kept her eyes fixed on the floor. “Garrett said... he said he was going to consolidate our finances. He said it would pay off his debts and give us enough money to restore the utilities and remodel the kitchen.”
“Garrett is bankrupt, Mom,” I said plainly. “He owes eighty thousand dollars to loan sharks. His business is failing. His car is being repossessed. If you sign this, you aren't remodeling a kitchen. You’re giving him permission to sell the roof over your head to pay off his bad bets.”
“He... he wouldn't do that to me,” she whispered, but the doubt in her voice was deafening. “He loves me. He’s my baby.”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
A roar came from the doorway.
Garrett burst into the apartment, carrying a leather briefcase. His hair was disheveled, his tie was loose, and his eyes were wild with caffeine, panic, and rage. Behind him stood a middle-aged woman wearing a lanyard that identified her as a certified mobile notary.
“Get your hands off my paperwork, Craig!” Garrett yelled, lunging toward the table.
I stepped in front of him, planting my feet. I had three inches and thirty pounds of muscle on my younger brother. When he tried to push past me, I didn't budge; he bounced off my chest and stumbled back against the entryway wall.
“The notary can leave,” I said, looking over Garrett’s shoulder at the woman. “There will be no signings today.”
The notary took one look at the screaming match, turned on her heel, and walked out the door without saying a word.
“You ruined it!” Garrett screamed, his face turning an ugly, mottled purple. “You ruined everything! That loan was going to save my company! It was going to save my life!”
“By stealing Mom’s house?” I demanded, pointing a finger at his chest. “Dad worked thirty years at the rail yard to pay off that mortgage! He died with calluses on his hands so Mom would never have to worry about a roof over her head! And you were going to gamble it away on vape cartridges and lease payments?”
“It was going to be mine anyway!” Garrett shrieked, dropping all pretense. “She gave it to me! She promised it to me at dinner! It’s my house!”
“It is NOT your house!”
The voice that cut through the room didn't belong to me.
It belonged to my mother.
She was standing up from the table. The frail, pathetic victim act was gone. In its place was a woman who had just stared into the mirror of her own choices and realized the monster she had created.
She looked at Garrett, her eyes wide with horror. “You told me... you told me Craig had locked our family accounts. You told me you were protecting me from him.”
“Mom, listen to me—” Garrett began, trying to soften his tone, taking a step toward her with his hands raised.
“Don't you dare come near me!” she screamed, her voice cracking with fury. “I gave you everything! I favored you over your brother your entire life! When you crashed your first car, I lied to your father and said it was a deer! When you failed out of community college, I gave you your tuition money back from my own savings! I gave you four hundred thousand dollars in my will while giving Craig nothing, and you were going to throw me out on the street?”
“Mom, I was going to pay it back!” Garrett pleaded desperately. “Once the wholesale market bounces back, I can make fifty grand a month—”
“Get out,” she whispered.
“Mom—”
“I said GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!” she roared.
May you like
Presley grabbed her duffel bag, looked at Garrett with utter contempt, and walked out the door without looking back.
Garrett stood frozen in the center of the apartment. He looked at Mom, then at me. When he realized that the bank was closed, the inheritance was dead, and the golden child had fallen from grace, he grabbed his briefcase, spat on the hardwood floor, and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the glass fixtures rattled.
