Chapter 5 - THE EMPTY MANSION AND THE MIDNIGHT VISITOR
By 8:00 PM, the chaos had settled into an eerie, hollow quiet.
The River Oaks mansion was completely dark except for a single exterior floodlight illuminating the empty driveway. The luxury cars were gone—towed to a secure impound lot. The designer furniture, clothing, and art pieces had been tagged, boxed, and hauled away by Redwood Capital’s liquidation team earlier that afternoon.
Inside, the house echoed.
Without the imported rugs, the custom artwork, and the artificial warmth of wealth bought on credit, the place felt like what it truly was: a hollow concrete box wrapped in expensive siding.
I unlocked the front door with my master physical key and stepped inside.
The air smelled of fresh paint and emptiness. I walked slowly through the cavernous living room, my boots clicking rhythmically against the hardwood floor—the exact same hardwood floor I had laid down myself with my own calloused hands thirty years ago, long before Brandon ever learned how to spell corporate bonuses.
I walked into the kitchen, pulled a small thermos of black coffee from my bag, and poured a cup.
As I stood by the kitchen island, looking out through the massive glass windows toward the empty patio, the front gate intercom buzzed.
Bzzzz.
I didn’t move. I took a slow sip of coffee and waited.
Bzzzz.
The intercom button was pressed again, longer this time, frantic and desperate.
I walked over to the smart-home console by the hallway, tapped the camera feed, and smiled faintly.
It wasn't Brandon—he was currently sitting in a holding cell downtown, waiting for an arraignment judge.
It was Amber.
She looked a wreck. Her designer makeup was smudged under her eyes, her hair was tangled from the wind, and she was shivering in her thin silk blouse. She was staring directly into the security camera lens, her face twisted in a desperate, pleading grimace.
I tapped the audio speaker icon.
"You can't come in, Amber," I said, my voice echoing through the outdoor speaker system across the empty courtyard.
Amber jumped, spinning around to face the camera box by the gate.
"Franklin! Oh, thank God!" she cried out, running right up to the lens, pressing her hands against the metal grill. "Franklin, please! You have to help me! The police wouldn't let me back into the apartment, my credit cards are all frozen, and Brandon is locked up! Please, unlock the gate! Let me inside!"
"Into whose house, Amber?" I asked calmly. "As your lawyer reminded you earlier today, this is commercial property owned by Redwood Capital."
"I'll be good!" she sobbed, genuine tears streaming down her face now that the full weight of her destitution had hit her. "I'll apologize for last night! I won't ever look at you sideways again! Just... please don't leave me out here on the street with nothing! We're family!"
"Family?" I let out a low, dry chuckle. "Last night, when your husband was striking me across the face thirty times, you sat on that sofa and smiled. You enjoyed the show, Amber. You thought youth and money gave you the right to watch an old man get humiliated in his own home."
"I was just... Brandon was stressed! He didn't mean it!" she shrieked, her voice cracking into desperation.
"He meant every single blow," I said quietly. "And you enabled every single one of them with your silence. So no, Amber. There is no key for you here. The locks have been changed, the deed has been transferred, and your little vacation in River Oaks is officially over."
"You're a monster!" she screamed, the mask of politeness finally shattering completely. "You're a cold, heartless old bastard! You set us up! You set Brandon up!"
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"No, Amber," I whispered into the mic. "I just gave you both enough rope to see what you would do with it. And you chose to hang yourselves."
I hit the mute button, turned off the exterior monitor, and plunged the house into total darkness.
