The careful, managed tone was gone.
“You don’t understand the full picture here.
Your grandmother is not well.
She hasn’t been well for months.
I’ve been trying to protect her.”
“From what?”
“From herself.
From bad decisions.
From — ” He stopped.
“There are things I haven’t told you because I was trying to handle this quietly, as a family.”
“You transferred her house to yourself, Arthur.”
“That was a protective measure.
Temporary.
To prevent her from being taken advantage of.”
“By who?”
Silence.
“By who?” I repeated.
“Ivan, just come and talk to me.
Bring her if you want.
We can sit down and sort this out like adults.”
“The police are at her house right now,” I said.
“If you want to sort it out, you can talk to them.”
The line went dead.
Officer Reyes came back inside.
She looked at Grandma, then at me.
“We’ve made contact with the county prosecutor’s office,” she said.
“Given the bank fraud component and the property transfer, this is going to move above the patrol level.
Someone from the financial crimes unit will be in touch by tomorrow morning.” She paused.
“Mrs.
Sterling, is there somewhere safe you can stay tonight?
I’d recommend not being here alone.”
“She’s staying with me,” I said.
Grandma didn’t argue.
Patricia squeezed her hand at the door.
“I’ll keep an eye on the house,” she said.
“Same as always.”
We carried the lockbox to my car.
Grandma took one last look at the front porch — at the single remaining green chair — before she got in.
I slept on the couch that night and gave Grandma my bedroom.
She didn’t protest, which told me more than anything she’d said all day.
At six forty-five in the morning, someone knocked on my apartment door.
I knew before I opened it.
Arthur was standing in the hallway in a pressed shirt and a jacket, as though he’d come to a meeting.
Wendy was a step behind him, her arms crossed, her expression arranged into something meant to look like concern.
