Another family.
The second stranger began examining the papers again.
“You borrowed against property you may not own,” he said.
Anthony’s confidence cracked.
“I own it.”
“Then why forge anything?”
“I didn’t forge anything.”
I said, “Check the signature against the original deed.”
Anthony spun toward me.
“You need to stop talking.”
“No,” I said.
“I really don’t.”
It was the first time that night I saw fear in my son’s eyes that had nothing to do with the men in the kitchen.
He was afraid of me being believed.
That fear was useful.
The stranger with the folder looked toward the basement.
“You have the original?”
“Safe-deposit box.”
That wasn’t the whole truth.
The original was secure, but more importantly, I had photographed every suspicious page three months earlier and sent copies somewhere Anthony could not reach.
Marcus knew where.
Anthony did not.
Brittany stepped forward.
“This is ridiculous.
He’s old.
He doesn’t understand any of this.”
I answered without looking at her.
“I understand a forged signature.”
“You think you’re so smart.”
“No.
I think I’m still the legal owner of my house.”
The room went quiet.
The first stranger leaned against the doorframe.
Then he asked a question that changed everything.
“Mr.
Caruso, how do you know Apex?”
Anthony frowned.
Brittany stopped moving.
I could hear Marcus breathing through the phone.
I said, “Thirty-five years ago, I helped put people connected to it in prison.”
The man’s face emptied.
Behind him, Anthony whispered, “What?”
There it was.
For three months he had believed he knew exactly who his father was: retired, aging, predictable, attached to a house worth more than he thought an old man needed.
He had never bothered to ask what I had done before becoming the version of me he remembered.
The stranger with the folder closed it.
His partner looked at him.
Neither seemed interested in Anthony’s excuses anymore.
The man on the stairs asked, “Who are you talking to?”
I answered, “Marcus.”
That name meant nothing to Anthony.
It meant something to the stranger.
His eyes narrowed.
“Marcus who?”
I smiled for the first time since I hit the floor.
“He’ll introduce himself.”
