Chapter 3 - The Man Who Took Dad
“Tyler Mercer.”
I looked at Robert.
My brother was supposed to be standing in the backyard at his graduation party.
He couldn't also have collected Dad.
“Call the police,” Robert said.
We were already moving.
The rehabilitation center gave officers the surveillance footage.
The man had worn a baseball cap and sunglasses.
He was roughly Tyler's height.
He had shown identification.
A photocopy, apparently.
Dad had willingly entered the vehicle.
That was the worst part.
He hadn't looked frightened.
He had believed whoever took him was family.
I called Tyler.
No answer.
Mom answered on the fourth ring.
“Where is Tyler?”
“Celebrating.”
“Put him on.”
“What now?”
“Dad is missing.”
Everything changed in her voice.
“What?”
“Someone signed him out pretending to be Tyler.”
Silence.
Then shouting.
I heard Mom calling Tyler's name.
Thirty seconds later, he was on the phone.
“What happened?”
I listened carefully.
He sounded genuinely shocked.
That didn't clear him.
But it mattered.
“Did Mason know Dad was at Greenfield?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He needed Dad to sign something.”
Robert closed his eyes.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Did he see him?”
“I don't know.”
I told Tyler not to leave.
Police arrived at the party before Robert and I returned.
By then, the graduation celebration was over.
Guests had scattered.
Balloons still floated over abandoned tables.
Mom was crying.
Tyler looked sick.
Three hours later, police found Dad.
He was sitting inside a diner fifteen miles away.
Alone.
Confused.
But safe.
Someone had driven him there, bought him coffee, and left.
Dad remembered almost nothing except one sentence.
The man had told him:
“Your family needs you to fix Ethan's mistake.”
Dad looked at me from his hospital bed that evening.
“What mistake?”
“I don't know.”
He studied my face.
Then he whispered, “The house?”
My chest tightened.
“You remember the agreement?”
“Of course.”
“Mom doesn't.”
Dad looked away.
That told me something.
“You never told her.”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“What happened?”
“She said she didn't want to discuss paperwork.”
That sounded like Mom.
Then Dad squeezed my hand.
Weakly.
“I wanted you protected.”
“I know.”
“I didn't give Tyler the house.”
“I know.”
His eyes filled.
“I wouldn't do that to you.”
For the first time all day, I almost broke.
But Dad wasn't finished.
“Mason came to see me.”
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Why?”
“He wanted me to sign a statement.”
“What statement?”
Dad struggled to remember.
“He said you had made us sign something unfair.”
Robert leaned closer.
“Did you sign?”
“No.”
Relief.
Then Dad added:
“But Diane did.”
Mom.
I found her in the hallway.
She admitted Mason had brought documents.
She thought they were part of Tyler's graduation gift.
She hadn't read them.
“You signed legal documents without reading them?”
“He said they were routine.”
“Who told you he was trustworthy?”
She looked toward Tyler.
My brother was sitting twenty feet away.
I walked toward him.
“Mason told you about the ownership agreement, didn't he?”
Tyler looked exhausted.
Finally, he nodded.
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
“And you didn't tell Mom?”
“He said it was probably invalid.”
“Probably.”
“He said Dad had been manipulated.”
“By me?”
Tyler said nothing.
I understood.
My brother hadn't merely accepted a house.
He had convinced himself I had stolen it first.
“Where is Mason?”
“I don't know.”
Robert's phone rang.
His office alarm had been triggered.
We drove there with police.
Nothing appeared stolen.
Until Robert opened his records room.
The file cabinet containing my family's original documents had been forced open.
Inside, every file remained untouched except one.
Mine.
Gone.
Then an officer called from Robert's private office.
Someone had left an envelope on his desk.
My name was written across the front.
Inside was a photograph.
It showed me entering the bank eight years earlier.
On the back, someone had written:
YOU WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO FINISH THE PAYMENTS.
Robert stared at it.
I looked at him.
“You know who wrote this.”
He didn't answer.
“Robert.”
His hands began trembling.
“There was someone else involved when your mortgage was restructured.”
“Who?”
He looked toward the office door.
May you like
Footsteps stopped outside.
Then the handle slowly began to turn...
