Chapter 3 - The Locksmith and the Law
At 6:30 AM the next morning, three vehicles pulled onto the quiet residential street in San Bernardino: my SUV, an emergency locksmith van, and a marked San Bernardino Sheriff's department cruiser.
Evelyn Vance stepped out of her sedan holding a manila folder containing the court injunction and sole-ownership property records.
"The lender's fraud division has already flagged the application," Evelyn confirmed as we walked up the driveway. "The moment Brandon or Gertrude tries to process that payment, the police will be notified. But first, let's clear your house."
I walked up the front steps and unlocked the front door. The house reeked of stale wine, fried seafood, and garbage left out on the dining table from their midnight feast.
In the living room, Brandon was pacing frantically on his phone, wearing his bathrobe, while Gertrude sat on the sofa sipping coffee out of my favorite mug. Hailey was on her laptop in the kitchen, frantically trying to re-enter credit card numbers into the contractor portal.
"Charlotte!" Brandon roared, throwing his arms up the moment he saw me. "Where the hell have you been? My cards are declining! Mom’s card is blocked! The architect is calling every ten minutes demanding the ten-thousand-dollar preliminary deposit!"
Gertrude stood up, pointing a crooked finger at me. "You insolent girl! How dare you turn off the cards while we have guests and business partners waiting? You brought your daughter out past midnight just to throw a petty tantrum!"
I didn't say a word. I simply stepped aside.
Deputy Miller and Deputy Higgins walked through the door behind me, followed by the locksmith carrying his tool bag.
Brandon’s rant cut off mid-sentence. His face paled as his eyes flicked from the uniform badges to the paperwork in Evelyn’s hands.
"What is this?" Brandon stammered, backing up a step. "Why are the police here?"
"Brandon Miller," Deputy Miller announced sternly. "This property is registered solely under Charlotte Reed as pre-marital property. We are executing an emergency protective order and notice of unlawful detainer. You, Gertrude Miller, and Hailey Miller have thirty minutes to gather your personal clothing and vacate the premises."
"Vacate?!" Gertrude shrieked, her voice cracking. "This is my son's house! He lives here! I am his mother!"
"It is my house, Gertrude," I said, my voice steady and cold as steel. "Purchased three years before I ever met your son. Paid off with my hard-earned money. The same money you told my daughter she didn't deserve to eat."
Hailey ran out of the kitchen, her eyes wide with panic. "Brandon, do something! The architect portal says our application is flagged for felony fraud investigations!"
Brandon turned to me, his arrogance completely crumbling into desperation. "Charlotte, please! We can talk about this! It was just a loan to start a family business! We were going to pay it back!"
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"You forged my signature, Brandon," I replied, looking him dead in the eye. "You stole my identity, neglected my child, and treated my home like a trough for your family to feed from. Your time is up."
The locksmith began drilling out the deadbolts right in front of them.
