CHAPTER 4 — THE BOY IN THE NECK BRACE
The neck brace was too large.
That was the first thing I noticed.
It rose almost to Mason’s jaw and forced him to hold his head at an unnatural angle. A faint red mark crossed the left side of his neck, but it looked narrow and straight, nothing like the uneven bruising fingers would have caused.
Fiona kept one hand on his shoulder.
Gregory stood farther down the hall speaking to a uniformed officer.
He had changed clothes.
Gone were the stained beach shorts and wrinkled shirt. Now he wore dark slacks, a button-down shirt, and the expression of a concerned father forced to confront an ugly truth.
The detectives introduced themselves as Laura Chen and Patrick Wilkes.
Naomi immediately stated that she represented my parents and would be present during questioning.
Detective Chen agreed.
Fiona objected.
“Why does Dad need a lawyer if he did nothing wrong?”
Naomi turned toward her.
“Why does your son need a neck brace if emergency records show no cervical injury?”
Fiona’s face tightened.
“You have been accessing private medical records?”
“No. Mason announced his diagnosis loudly enough for everyone at the nurses’ station to hear.”
Mason glanced at his mother.
Detective Wilkes asked Fiona and Gregory to wait outside while they interviewed Dad.
Gregory refused at first, but the detectives insisted.
Dad described the pantry incident slowly.
He admitted placing his left hand against Mason’s upper chest to push him away after Mason shoved him into the door. He denied touching Mason’s throat.
Detective Chen showed him a photograph.
It depicted red marks around Mason’s neck.
Dad stared at it.
“I did not do that.”
“Did you see those marks afterward?”
“No.”
“Did you see anyone else touch his neck?”
“No.”
Naomi played the kitchen recording.
The detectives listened twice.
Then Detective Wilkes asked, “Mr. Sinclair, why did Gregory tell Mason to push you again?”
Dad looked down.
“I think he wanted me to react.”
“Did you?”
“I stepped away.”
The detectives requested the full security footage from the day of the incident. I provided access.
After the interview, Fiona entered the room without permission.
“You are unbelievable,” she said to Dad.
Mom stood immediately.
“Do not speak to him that way.”
Fiona ignored her.
“Mason trusted you. He loved you.”
Mason remained in the doorway.
He did not look angry.
He looked terrified.
I watched him carefully.
“Mason,” I said, “how did you get the marks on your neck?”
Fiona stepped between us.
“Do not interrogate my child.”
“I asked one question.”
“He has already spoken to the police.”
Mason’s eyes moved toward Gregory.
Gregory gave the smallest shake of his head.
I saw it.
Detective Chen saw it too.
She stepped closer to Mason.
“Would you like to speak with us privately?”
Fiona answered for him.
“No.”
“He is old enough to answer,” the detective said.
“He is a minor.”
“That does not prevent us from asking whether he feels safe.”
For the first time, Mason looked directly at the detective.
His lips parted.
Then Gregory said, “We are leaving.”
He grabbed Mason’s shoulder.
Mason winced.
Detective Wilkes noticed.
“Mr. Mercer, remove your hand.”
Gregory released him.
“This family has been through enough harassment.”
“You came here voluntarily,” the detective replied.
Gregory looked at me.
“This is what you wanted, is it not? Turn everyone against us so you can protect your precious investment.”
“My parents are not an investment.”
“Everything is money to you.”
The accusation would have hurt once.
Years earlier, when my company began succeeding, Fiona started treating every boundary as proof that money had changed me.
If I refused to lend Gregory another fifty thousand dollars, I was selfish.
If I declined to buy them a larger house, I had forgotten where I came from.
If I paid for Mom’s surgery but would not finance one of Gregory’s business schemes, I was controlling.
What Fiona never acknowledged was that I had already given them more than one hundred thousand dollars over the years.
None had been repaid.
“You are right about one thing,” I told him. “I am protecting an investment.”
He smiled triumphantly.
“The investment is my parents’ safety.”
His smile vanished.
That afternoon, Dad was discharged.
I arranged rooms for my parents at a quiet hotel overlooking the water. Naomi filed an emergency request for a protective order against Gregory and Fiona based on the alleged intimidation, document theft, and interference with Mom’s phone call.
We also issued a formal revocation of permission to occupy the house.
Under Oregon law, the removal process still required careful handling. Naomi warned me that changing the locks while they claimed residency could create unnecessary complications.
So we did everything by the book.
Notices were delivered.
Evidence was preserved.
The pending deed was challenged.
And I hired a licensed security company to monitor the property’s exterior.
Gregory responded by calling local news outlets.
The first story appeared online that evening.
WEALTHY TECH EXECUTIVE EVICTS SISTER’S FAMILY FROM PARENTS’ ANNIVERSARY HOME.
The article quoted Fiona extensively.
She claimed I had promised the home would remain “in the family” and was now using legal tricks to seize control from our elderly parents.
She claimed Gregory had repaired the house using his own money.
She claimed Dad had become violent toward Mason when they questioned my intentions.
A photograph showed Fiona holding Mason outside the mansion.
The neck brace was prominently visible.
Within hours, the article spread across social media.
People who knew nothing about us called me heartless.
Some accused me of elder abuse.
Others said I had purchased the mansion to control my parents.
My company’s communications director called.
“We are receiving media inquiries,” she said.
“Do not respond yet.”
“Lucas, the story is gaining traction.”
“I know.”
“The board may become concerned.”
“Let them.”
“Are the allegations false?”
“All of them.”
“Then we should issue a statement.”
“Not until the police finish.”
Silence.
“You understand that silence can look like guilt.”
“Yes.”
But I also understood Fiona.
The more attention she received, the more confident she became.
And confident people made mistakes.
At nine that night, one of those mistakes appeared on the security feed.
Gregory went into the garage carrying a red fuel can.
He checked the driveway, then walked along the side of the house toward the security control box.
He opened the panel.
The cameras went black.
I called the security company.
Their technician confirmed that the main exterior line had been manually cut.
The backup cellular cameras remained active, but Gregory did not know they existed.
One captured him returning from the dunes twenty minutes later.
He no longer carried the fuel can.
I alerted police.
Officers searched the beach access area but found nothing.
The next morning, Gregory posted a video from the mansion’s living room.
He sat beside Fiona and their sons beneath the large stone fireplace.
“We are being terrorized by a powerful man,” he told the camera. “But we will not be forced from our home.”
Behind him, smoke began curling from the edge of the frame.
At first, nobody noticed.
Then Mason turned.
“Dad?”
Gregory looked over his shoulder.
Flames leaped outside the window.
Fiona screamed.
The video ended.
I called emergency services before Gregory did.
By the time firefighters arrived, flames had spread through the dry grass near the dunes and climbed the rear deck.
My parents stood beside me in the hotel lobby, watching the live security feed.
Mom covered her mouth.
Dad whispered, “The house.”
I put an arm around him.
The firefighters contained the blaze before it reached the interior, but part of the deck was destroyed and the rear siding blackened.
The fire marshal found the red fuel can buried beneath driftwood.
Gregory claimed someone planted it.
Then the backup footage was shown to him.
He changed his story.
He said he had taken fuel outside to burn yard debris.
During a summer fire restriction.
Beside a wooden deck.
After disabling the security system.
The police arrested him for reckless burning, criminal mischief, and tampering with security equipment.
As Gregory was placed in the patrol car, Fiona ran toward the officers.
“You cannot take him!”
Mason stood frozen on the porch.
His younger brother, Caleb, began to cry.
Gregory twisted around and shouted at Mason.
“Tell them Lucas started the fire!”
Mason’s face went white.
Detective Chen, who had arrived moments earlier, looked at the boy.
“Mason,” she said gently, “did Lucas start the fire?”
Mason stared at his father.
Then he reached up.
Slowly, he removed the medical neck brace.
The red mark beneath it had almost completely disappeared.
“No,” Mason whispered.
Fiona grabbed his arm.
“Stop talking.”
He pulled away.
“Dad made the marks.”
Nobody moved.
May you like
Mason’s voice broke.
“He used a belt.”
