Chapter 2
The cold dampness of the garage floor seemed to seep straight through Julian’s trousers, but he remained kneeling beside his father. Arthur’s skin had a grayish pallor, the texture of parchment left too long in a dark drawer. Julian reached out, his warm palm gripping his father’s fragile shoulder beneath the heavy gray cardigan. The physical contact seemed to anchor Arthur, who slowly let out a long, shuddering breath that smelled faintly of stale water and cardboard.
Standing in the doorway, David crossed his arms over his maroon polo, his posture rigid. Clara stood slightly behind him, her light purple dress swaying softly as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She kept her eyes fixed on the screen of her phone, her thumb scrolling with mechanical indifference.
"You have twenty seconds to get your things and get out of my sight, David," Julian said, not turning around. His voice was frighteningly calm, stripped of all theatrical anger, leaving only the cold edge of an ultimatum.
"You can't just barge in here making threats," David retorted, though a subtle shift in his footing betrayed his underlying unease. "We have paperwork. We have rights of occupancy granted under the informal caregiving clause. Look it up, Julian. You were too busy climbing the corporate ladder in the city to worry about who was buying his groceries or managing his medication."
Julian turned his head slightly, his dark eyes locking onto David with a piercing intensity. "Groceries? You locked him in a detached storage unit with a case of bottled water and a bag of chips. That isn't caregiving, David. That’s unlawful imprisonment and elder abuse."
"He wanders!" Clara spoke up for the first time, her voice sharp and defensive. She stepped forward, pointing a manicured nail toward the old man. "He wakes up at three in the morning and tries to leave the house. He doesn't know where he is. We have two small children inside, Julian. We had to secure him somewhere safe while we figured out what to do with his estate."
Arthur flinched at Clara’s words, his bony fingers suddenly shooting out to grab Julian’s forearm with surprising strength. The old man’s grip was frantic, his nails digging through the dark fabric of Julian's suit jacket. Julian looked down, meeting his father’s terrified gaze.
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"Son, ask what they made me sign," Arthur whispered, his voice cracking into a dry rattle.
Julian’s breath caught in his throat. He pulled his smartphone back up, the glow of the screen illuminating the confusion and sudden dread pooling in his own dark eyes. "Sign what?"
