Chapter 5 - Changed LocksAt 11:15 AM, Grant was speeding down Interstate 90 in his government-issued sedan, pushing eighty miles an hour. His uniform was soaked in sweat. He had left the auditors tearing through his files and fled the base, desperate to reach the Mercer Island house before the noon deadline Evelyn Vance had set.
He told himself he could fix this. If he could just get inside the house, if he could just see me face-to-face, he could charm his way out of it. He always did. He was Commander Grant Brooks; he didn't get kicked out onto the street like a common criminal.
He swung the sedan violently onto our private, tree-lined driveway, tires screeching against the wet asphalt. As the sprawling, multi-million dollar estate came into view, his stomach dropped.
Parked in the circular driveway was a massive white moving truck. Flanking the heavy oak front door were two men in dark suits with earpieces—private security.
Grant slammed the car into park and threw open the door, storming up the stone steps. "Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing? Get off my property!"
The larger of the two security guards stepped forward, raising a massive hand. "Sir, I need you to halt right there. This is a private residence."
"I am the homeowner!" Grant roared, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his keys. He shoved past the guard and jammed his key into the deadbolt.
It didn't turn.
He tried again, rattling the handle violently. The locks had already been changed. High-security, biometric locks now gleamed in the dull morning light.
"Sir, step back from the door," the guard warned, his tone shifting from polite to authoritative. He unclipped a radio from his belt.
Just then, the front door clicked open from the inside. Grant’s face lit up with desperate hope, but it wasn't me who stepped out. It was Owen.
My brother leaned against the doorframe, adjusting his silk tie, looking down at Grant with a mixture of pity and absolute disgust.
"Owen, tell these goons to back off," Grant demanded, though his voice shook. "I need to talk to my wife. I need to see my son."
"Your wife is not here, Grant. And neither is Ethan," Owen said smoothly. "They are safely relocated to an undisclosed property until the dust settles. Your personal belongings—your clothes, your golf clubs, your precious medals—are in those boxes in the garage. The movers will load them into your vehicle."
"You can't do this! I have marital rights! Half this house is mine!"
Owen actually laughed. It was a cold, humorless sound. "Did you ever actually read the documents you signed, Grant? This house, the cars, the vacation cabin in Aspen—they are all held by the Bennett Family Trust. You have zero equity. You are a guest who has overstayed his welcome. Consider yourself formally evicted."
Neighbors were beginning to peek through their hedges. The humiliation was absolute. Grant looked at the boxes in the garage, then back at Owen.
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"Where am I supposed to go?" Grant whispered, the reality of his homelessness finally sinking in.
"I hear the Motel 6 off the highway offers a military discount," Owen replied deadpan. "I suggest you hurry, Commander. The JAG investigators are probably looking for you." He stepped back and shut the heavy oak door in Grant’s face.
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