Chapter 1 - The Cold Welcome
I had just been released from Oakwood Prison after serving three years for a theft I swore I never committed.
I carried an old backpack, borrowed clothes, and trembling hands as I stood in front of the house where I had grown up. For 1,095 nights, I had imagined my father opening the front door. I pictured him sitting in his worn leather armchair, telling me, “Hang in there, son. The truth always finds a way to come out.”
I needed to believe Camden Dennis was still alive.
But when I arrived in the Silver Lake neighborhood, nothing felt like home anymore.
The front of the house had been repainted an elegant gray. My father's rose bushes were gone. A luxury white SUV and an unfamiliar red sedan sat in the driveway. Even the front door had been replaced with a sleek black one fitted with a modern lock.
It was the same house.
But its soul was gone.
I knocked hard. Not as a visitor. As a son.
Reagan answered wearing an emerald-green dress, her straightened hair perfectly styled and pearl earrings dangling from her ears. She looked at me with annoyance, as though I were a stain on her new carpet.
“You got out sooner than I expected,” she said.
“Where's my father?”
She let out a sigh. “He was b:uried a year ago. Can:cer. Fast. Painful. It's over now.”
The ground seemed to shift beneath my feet.
“And no one told me? No one even asked if I could see him one last time?”
Reagan gave a faint smile. “Finnley, you were in prison for stealing from your own father's company. Do you really think he wanted you ruining his funeral?”
“I didn't steal anything.”
“You said that during the trial. Nobody believed you.”
I tried to look past her into the house. The entrance hall no longer held our family photographs. My mother's portrait was gone. My father's favorite hat had disappeared. Expensive furniture had replaced everything, along with the artificial scent of air freshener.
“Let me in. I just want to see his room.”
“His room doesn't exist anymore. I remodeled it.”
Just then, Carter came downstairs. My stepbrother, the same man who had spent years drowning in debt and gambling, smiled as though he had been waiting for this moment.
“Well, look who's back. The ex-con has come for his inheritance.”
I stepped toward the doorway, but Reagan blocked my path.
“Your father di:ed a year ago, Finnley... and this house doesn't belong to you anymore. So don't make a scene. Just leave.”
Reagan said it without looking away.
“If you ever set foot on this property again, I'll call the police. With your criminal record, that won't end well for you.”
The door closed with a soft click.
May you like
I didn't shout. I didn't beg. I just stood there as the cold reality washed over me. Three years of my life, gone. My father, gone. My home, stolen.
But I wasn't going to just walk away. I turned my back to the gray house and started walking. I had a destination in mind.
