CHAPTER 5 — WHAT MASON KNEW
Fiona slapped Mason before anyone could stop her.
The sound cracked through the smoky air.
Mason stumbled sideways, staring at his mother in shock.
Detective Chen immediately stepped between them.
“Mrs. Mercer, put your hands behind your back.”
Fiona’s anger turned to panic.
“What? No. I barely touched him.”
“You struck a minor in front of two officers.”
“He is my son.”
“That does not make it legal.”
Fiona looked toward me as though I had orchestrated the entire scene.
“This is your fault!”
I did not answer.
An officer placed her in handcuffs.
Caleb, the younger boy, began crying harder. Mason stood perfectly still, one side of his face turning red.
I approached slowly.
“Mason, are you hurt?”
He recoiled.
Not because of me.
Because he expected every adult who moved toward him to cause pain.
That realization made my stomach turn.
Detective Chen asked whether the boys had another safe relative nearby.
They did not.
Fiona’s closest friend was out of state. Gregory’s parents had not spoken to him in years. Child welfare services were contacted.
My mother stepped forward.
“They can stay with us.”
Dad looked at her in surprise.
Mom took his hand.
“They are our grandsons.”
The caseworker explained that a temporary placement required screening and approval, especially because Dad had been accused of assaulting Mason.
Mason shook his head.
“He did not hurt me.”
Everyone looked at him.
He stared at the sand beneath his shoes.
“My dad told me to say Grandpa grabbed my throat.”
Detective Chen activated a recorder.
“Mason, we should discuss this somewhere private.”
“I do not want to go inside.”
So they sat with him in the back of an ambulance.
Fiona screamed from the patrol car that he was a liar.
Gregory shouted from another vehicle that I had paid him.
Mason heard both of them.
He closed his eyes.
For nearly forty minutes, he spoke to the detective and the caseworker.
When he emerged, he looked exhausted.
Caleb sat beside him on the ambulance step.
“What is going to happen?” Caleb asked.
Mason put an arm around his younger brother.
“I do not know.”
That evening, after emergency approval, the boys were allowed to stay with my parents and me in an adjoining hotel suite.
Dad kept his distance from Mason.
Not because he was angry.
Because he was afraid the boy might feel unsafe.
Mason noticed.
“You can sit down, Grandpa.”
Dad looked at him.
“Are you sure?”
Mason nodded.
Dad sat in a chair across the room.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Finally, Mason said, “I am sorry.”
“You do not need to apologize.”
“I pushed you.”
“You were told to.”
“I still did it.”
Dad’s eyes filled.
“You are sixteen years old. Your father should have protected you, not used you.”
Mason looked away.
“He said we would be homeless if I did not help.”
“Were you already losing your house?” I asked.
Mason nodded.
“The bank took it last month.”
That explained why they had stayed at the mansion.
They had nowhere else to go.
But it did not explain the plan.
“How long had your parents talked about taking this house?” I asked.
Mason glanced toward Caleb, who was asleep on the sofa.
“Since Aunt Fiona found the anniversary card.”
“What card?”
“The one you sent Grandma and Grandpa with the keys.”
I remembered it.
I had written that the house would always be their home.
Mason continued.
“Mom said that meant they owned it. Dad looked up the property online and found your company’s name. He got angry.”
“Why?”
“He said you were using Grandma and Grandpa as puppets.”
That sounded exactly like Gregory.
“He said they deserved to control the property,” Mason added. “Then he said if Grandma and Grandpa signed it over, he could borrow against it.”
“How much did he owe?”
“I do not know. A lot.”
Mason swallowed.
“Men came to our old house. Dad made us stay upstairs. I heard one of them say he had ten days.”
My mother looked frightened.
“What men?”
“Dad called them investors.”
They were not investors.
I knew enough about legitimate business lending to recognize the language of predatory or criminal debt collection.
“What did your father spend the money on?”
Mason shrugged.
“He had a project.”
Gregory always had a project.
A townhouse development.
A marina renovation.
A restaurant partnership.
Each one was supposedly one final investment away from success.
Each ended with unpaid bills and another request for family money.
“Did your parents ever discuss hurting Grandma or Grandpa?” I asked.
Mom flinched.
Mason hesitated too long.
“Mason.”
“My dad said old people get confused.”
The room became very quiet.
“He said if Grandpa signed something and later denied it, everyone would believe Grandpa had dementia.”
Dad stared at him.
“Did Fiona agree?”
Mason nodded.
“She started writing down things Grandpa forgot. Like where he put his glasses or whether he took his pills.”
Mom covered her mouth.
“They wanted medical proof,” Naomi said.
She had joined us by video call.
“Not proof,” I replied. “A pattern they could exaggerate.”
Mason looked toward the laptop.
“Dad also had medicine.”
“What kind?” Naomi asked.
“A bottle with Grandma’s name on it.”
Mom frowned.
“I do not have any new medication.”
“Where did you see it?” I asked.
“In Dad’s bag.”
Mason described a small amber prescription bottle.
The label carried my mother’s name.
The pills inside were white.
Mom’s current prescriptions were blue and pale yellow.
“What was he doing with it?” I asked.
“He crushed some into tea.”
Mom’s face lost all color.
Dad stood so quickly his chair scraped the floor.
“When?”
“The morning before Lucas came.”
Mom gripped the edge of the table.
“I slept almost the entire day.”
I called Detective Chen.
Within an hour, police obtained authorization to search Gregory’s belongings connected to the active criminal investigation.
They found the amber bottle inside the locked compartment of his truck.
The label was forged.
The pills were later identified as a strong sedative.
There was no lawful prescription in Mom’s name.
At that point, the case changed.
This was no longer merely a property dispute, document fraud, or reckless fire.
Gregory had drugged my mother.
And Fiona had almost certainly known.
Detectives returned to interview Mason again.
He told them Fiona watched Gregory crush the pills.
He also said Gregory had planned to drug Dad before the notary arrived.
But Dad refused tea that morning.
My father stared at the ocean through the hotel window.
“They were going to make me look confused.”
Naomi answered quietly.
“Or impaired enough to sign.”
Dad pressed both hands against the glass.
“I raised her.”
Mom walked over and stood beside him.
“You loved her,” she said. “That is not the same as creating what she became.”
The next day, Fiona was released pending further investigation related to the slap, but she was prohibited from contacting the boys without supervision.
Gregory remained in custody because of the fire and evidence tampering charges.
The mansion was temporarily secured.
I paid for repairs but refused to let my parents return until the police completed the search and a safety inspection.
Public opinion had begun to shift.
A second article reported the fire arrest and the allegation that Gregory fabricated evidence against my father.
People who had called me cruel now deleted their comments.
But Fiona was not finished.
She gave an interview from outside the courthouse.
She claimed Gregory had suffered a mental breakdown caused by financial stress.
She claimed Mason had been manipulated by investigators.
Then she looked directly into the camera.
“My brother Lucas has spent his whole life buying loyalty. Now he is buying my children.”
Mom turned off the television.
“I do not recognize her.”
I sat beside her.
“Maybe none of us wanted to.”
That night, I received an email from an unknown address.
The subject line read:
YOU DO NOT KNOW WHAT GREGORY OWES.
There was no message.
Only a photograph.
It showed Gregory standing beside three men outside a warehouse in Portland.
One man held a folder.
Another pointed toward a printed photograph of the oceanfront mansion.
May you like
Written across the bottom of the image were six words:
PROPERTY TRANSFER DUE BY END OF MONTH.
