Chapter 6 - The Denial and the Desperate Ambush
Tyler was the first to break.
He jumped to his feet, knocking his heavy leather chair back against the wall with a loud thud. "This is illegal! You can't just kick people out of their house in the middle of winter! There are tenant rights! There are squatter protections! I’ll hire my own lawyer!"
Marcus Vance didn't even blink. He looked at Tyler as if he were an annoying gnat buzzing around an expensive steak.
"Tyler, with what money do you plan to hire an attorney?" Marcus asked mildly. "Your personal checking account has a balance of four hundred and twelve dollars. Your marine loan is in default. Your business account has been frozen for suspected corporate entity commingling. If you file a frivolous motion against Oakridge, I will personally file counterclaims for seven years of fraudulent conversion regarding your consulting retainers. You will be bankrupt by Friday and in front of a grand jury by March."
Tyler dropped back down, burying his face in his hands, dry sobs racking his shoulders. "Oh God... Brooke is going to leave me. My boat... my credit..."
Kenneth sat motionless, staring at the scattered papers on the walnut table. The words *Lucia Brennan* seemed to burn through the page like acid.
For seven years, he had bragged at the local diner about his "investment portfolio." He had puffed his chest out to his former union buddies, telling them that true American grit always paid off in the end, that while modern kids were wasting their lives playing video games, men like him were rewarded by smart market plays.
It had all been a lie.
Every luxury, every stone paver, every heated inch of concrete, every steak he grilled on that five-thousand-dollar stainless steel barbecue had been bought, paid for, and maintained by the daughter he had treated like an awkward afterthought. The daughter he had cast out into the freezing dark twenty-four hours ago.
"Where is she?" Kenneth’s voice was hoarse, hollowed out by shock.
Marcus closed his folder. "That is confidential client information."
"She’s my daughter!" Kenneth slammed his hand down, trying desperately to muster his old, terrifying patriarchal fury, but the sound was empty, echoing weakly in the cavernous room. "I have a right to speak to my own flesh and blood!"
"You surrendered your rights when you pointed to the door," Marcus replied, checking his gold pocket watch. "You have twenty-nine days remaining on your residential occupancy notice. If you wish to purchase the home from Oakridge, the appraised fair-market value is eight hundred and ninety thousand dollars. Cashier’s check or certified financing will be accepted. Now, gentlemen, I have client conferences to attend to. My assistants will show you to the elevators."
Kenneth stood up slowly, his body feeling eighty years old. His knees, stiff and throbbing from the cold walk from the street, groaned under his weight. Tyler followed him like a condemned prisoner walking to the gallows.
When they stepped out onto the granite plaza of the Salesforce Tower, the cold wind ripped through their jackets.
Tyler grabbed Kenneth’s arm, his eyes wide and frantic. "Dad, we can't let her do this! We have to find her! She’s still in town—she wouldn't have flown back to Texas on Christmas night!"
"Where would she go?" Kenneth muttered, his mind spinning into a dark abyss of shame and terror.
"The Conrad!" Tyler yelled, shaking Kenneth’s sleeve. "Remember? Last year when her flight got canceled, she stayed at the Conrad on Washington Street! It’s only three blocks from here! If we can talk to her before she gets on a plane, we can fix this! Mom can apologize! You can tell her you were just stressed about work!"
Kenneth looked down at his salt-stained boots, then toward Washington Street.
Pride whispered in his ear that he should walk away, that a father should never bow before his child. But the chilling image of the two empty flatbed tow trucks, the frozen driveway, and the mountain of unpayable debt screamed louder.
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"Come on," Kenneth said, his voice trembling in the freezing wind. "We’re going to the Conrad."
***
