Chapter 2 - The Locksmith and the Champagne
The silence in the kitchen was deafening, broken only by the soft bubbling of the forgotten rosemary sauce on the stove.
Daniel took a step forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture he had used since he was a teenager caught in a lie. "Mom, let's just calm down. Vanessa was just stressed about the party. You know how she gets."
"Do not speak for me, Daniel," Vanessa hissed, though her eyes darted nervously to the manila folder in my hand. "Margaret, you are being completely unreasonable. The valet service is arriving in twenty minutes. You are going to ruin us socially!"
"Your social standing," I replied, my voice devoid of any maternal warmth, "is built on a foundation of my money and my tolerance. Both of which have just run out."
The doorbell rang.
It wasn't a guest. It was Gary, the locksmith. He stood on the porch with his heavy tool bag, chewing a piece of gum. I let him in, and he immediately went to work on the front door, stripping the brass lock cylinder I had installed a decade ago.
"Hey, Margaret," Gary said, nodding at me before glancing at the shocked couple in the hallway. "Just the front and back, like you said?"
"The garage entry too, please, Gary."
"Mom!" Daniel's voice cracked, pitching an octave higher. "What is he doing? You can't change the locks on us. We live here!"
"You were guests," I corrected him, opening the manila folder and pulling out the occupancy agreement he had blindly signed three months ago. I tapped the clause at the bottom of the page. "A thirty-day notice is standard, but clause 4B allows for immediate revocation of the license to occupy in the event of criminal activity against the property owner."
Vanessa scoffed. "Criminal activity? Have you lost your mind, old woman?"
I pulled out the second sheet of paper. It was a printout of the electronic refinancing application.
"Six hundred thousand dollars," I read aloud. "Using this property as collateral. The signature is a very decent forgery of my handwriting, Daniel. But you forgot that the IP address of the submission traces back to your personal laptop. And you left the confirmation page in the printer queue."
All the blood drained from Daniel's face. He looked like a ghost, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
Vanessa turned slowly to look at her husband. "What is she talking about, Dan? You told me you secured a bridge loan from an angel investor."
"I... I was going to pay it back," Daniel stammered, stepping away from his wife and looking at me with terrified, pleading eyes. "Mom, the business just needed a little more runway. If we didn't keep up appearances, the investors would have walked!"
"You tried to steal my home," I said, the words heavy and final. "You tried to steal the home your father built for us."
Before Daniel could formulate another pathetic excuse, the first black town car pulled into the circular driveway.
Vanessa shrieked. "The guests! Daniel, do something!"
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I walked to the front door, stepping past Gary, who was calmly installing a heavy-duty deadbolt. I opened the door just as a wealthy couple in pastel Easter attire stepped onto the porch, holding a bottle of expensive wine.
"Hello," I said pleasantly. "I'm Margaret, Daniel's mother. I'm afraid there has been a terrible misunderstanding. The party has been canceled due to a family emergency. Daniel and Vanessa are actually relocating this afternoon."
