Chapter 8 - The Return to Cactus Wren Drive
By 2:30 PM, Marcus’s BMW pulled back onto Cactus Wren Drive, but the atmosphere on the street had completely transformed.
A large commercial moving truck was parked awkwardly across the driveway, its hazard lights flashing rhythmically against the bright Arizona sun. Two frantic movers were hauling cheap plastic storage bins and garment bags out of the front door, tossing them haphazardly onto the lawn while Gwendolyn stood on the sidewalk, screaming directions into her phone.
Samuel sat slumped on the edge of a plastic patio chair that had been dragged onto the front grass, his head in his hands, staring blankly at the dirt.
Marcus killed the engine, but before I could open the passenger door, my phone buzzed violently in my hand.
It wasn't Detective Miller. It was an incoming call from Samuel’s personal cell number.
I looked at the screen for three long seconds before swiping and hitting speakerphone, keeping the phone resting on the console between us.
"Samuel," I answered, my voice devoid of emotion.
"Paige... please," my father's voice choked through the speaker, sounding older, weaker, and completely shattered. "Please, I'm begging you. Call whoever you sent to the bank. They've frozen my business accounts. They've frozen our credit cards. Gwendolyn is... she's losing her mind. She's screaming about offshore accounts and lawyers. What is happening?"
I leaned forward, looking out the windshield at the pathetic scene unfolding on the lawn.
"You didn't read the papers nine years ago, Samuel," I said quietly. "And you didn't look closely enough at the woman you brought into our home after my mother died. Gwendolyn wasn't just a wife. She was a professional liquidator working with a convicted fraudster named Julian Cross to steal everything my mother built."
A heavy, suffocating silence hung on the other end of the line.
"What... what are you talking about?" Samuel whispered, his voice trembling so violently he could barely form the words. "Gwendolyn... she loves me. She promised she only wanted to help us build a future..."
"She didn't want a future, Samuel. She wanted a clear title," I replied coldly. "And right now, Detective Miller and the financial crimes division are pulling the wire transfer logs for the two hundred thousand dollars she just tried to siphon out of the property's equity line. You're standing in the middle of a criminal investigation."
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Before Samuel could answer, a sharp, piercing shriek cut through the afternoon air.
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