Before I could answer, Grandpa spoke.
“Caleb.”
My brother turned toward him.
Grandpa’s voice stayed level.
“You had access to my debit card last summer.”
Caleb’s expression hardened. “So?”
“Four thousand six hundred dollars was withdrawn in Atlantic City.”
“It was a loan.”
“You never asked.”
Caleb rolled his eyes. “You weren’t using it.”
Something heavy crossed Grandpa’s face.
It was not surprise or even pain.
It was confirmation.
He had suspected Caleb too, but some small part of him had still hoped he was wrong.
The questioning lasted nearly two hours.
By five-thirty, the sky had deepened to dark blue and snow pressed against the windows. The house smelled of cold wool, fireplace smoke, and cinnamon candles Mom had arranged before leaving for Europe.
Detective Haskins called everyone back into the living room.
“We’re not making arrests tonight,” he said, “but this investigation is active. Mr. and Mrs. Whitaker, you are advised not to contact financial institutions involved in the complaint except through counsel. Do not destroy documents. Do not attempt to influence witnesses.”
Mom’s face was pale and wet.
Dad looked directly at Grandpa.
“You really want to do this?”
Grandpa raised his eyes.
“I already did.”
After the officers departed, the silence in the house felt deeper.
Dad slowly removed his coat.
“We need to talk as a family.”
Grandpa gave a faint smile. “That ended when you tried to take my house.”
“This house was supposed to be mine,” Dad said.
“No. It was supposed to be your mother’s home until she died, then mine until I died. After that, I planned to divide my estate fairly.”
Mom wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.
“Fairly?” she said. “Avery left. Caleb stayed close.”
I rose to my feet.
“Caleb stayed close because you paid his rent.”
Caleb pointed at me. “Shut up.”
Grandpa tapped his cane once.
“No one tells her to shut up in my house.”
Dad turned toward him.
“Your house? You think you can maintain this place alone? You can barely manage the stairs.”
“I don’t need to manage them alone.”
Mom’s eyes snapped toward me.
“No,” she said.
Grandpa reached toward the side table and picked up a sealed envelope.
“Avery has power of attorney now. Medical and financial. Effective immediately, confirmed by counsel and supported by a capacity evaluation.”
Dad’s face transformed.
For the first time in my life, I saw genuine fear in him.
