Chapter 6 - The Demolition Notice
The stranger's words hung in the suffocating heat, freezing us in place. A federal crime scene? The phrase echoed in my mind, washing away any lingering relief that we had merely encountered a squatter or a confused property manager. Mark let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh, though there was no humor in it. He lunged forward, grabbing the stranger by the collar of David's old jacket and slamming him lightly against the interior wall of the hallway.
"Who the hell are you, and what are you doing with my brother's jacket?" Mark demanded, his voice cracking with the strain of pure adrenaline. "You have ten seconds to explain before I put you through this drywall!"
The stranger didn't flinch. He didn't even raise his hands to defend himself. Instead, his pale blue eyes remained eerily calm, staring past Mark's furious face to fixate on Arthur standing behind him. There was a silent, chilling recognition passing between the two older men that made my stomach churn with unease.
"Let him go, Mark," Arthur commanded softly, his voice carrying an exhausted finality that forced Mark to loosen his grip with a reluctant curse.
The stranger straightened his collar, smoothing down the fabric of the jacket with deliberate slowness. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a laminated federal badge, holding it up to the sliver of light coming through the open door. "Special Agent Vance, federal asset recovery division," he said smoothly. "And for the record, this house hasn't belonged to your family since the courts seized the assets following the offshore accounts scandal. You're trespassing on federal property."
Sarah stepped forward, her face twisted in rage as she jabbed a finger toward Vance's chest. "That's a lie! We paid the settlement in full two years ago! Our attorney has the receipt stamped by the district court!"
"Your attorney was indicted last month for laundering the very funds you used for that settlement," Vance replied coldly, stepping fully into the hallway and revealing the full scope of what lay behind him. The living room wasn't furnished with our old sofa and family portraits anymore; it was gutted down to the studs, with yellow crime scene tape crisscrossing the bare floorboards and stacks of brown cardboard boxes lining the walls.
Grandma Clara gasped, clutching her chest as she looked at the empty space where her mother's antique cherrywood hutch used to stand. "Where is everything?" she whispered.
May you like
Vance walked slowly toward the front door, his eyes locking onto the small leather ledger still resting on the windowsill. "Everything was cataloged and removed yesterday," Vance said, his voice dropping to a low warning tone. "Except for what was left behind in the secret crawlspace under the floor. And judging by the fact that you drove straight here instead of the motel, someone tipped you off that the ledger was still inside."
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