“Yes.”
My mother took my hand. For the first time in months, hers was not trembling.
Outside, bright headlights swept across the living room windows. Garrick had finally decided to prove that paperwork had no power.
He was about to learn what evidence could do.
Part 3: The Handcuffs
Garrick stopped his truck crooked across my driveway and stepped out with a pistol tucked tightly against his thigh. Rain flashed silver beneath the porch light. He walked toward the house wearing the exact same confident smile he had worn beside my mother’s bruised face.
He pounded heavily on the front door. “Open up! We’re settling this tonight!”
I waited until the hidden porch cameras captured the firearm clearly on the federal feed. Then I swung the door open.
Garrick laughed out loud when he saw me standing entirely alone. “Where’s your mother?”
“Safe.”
His smile vanished, his jaw hardening. “Move.”
