The officers asked Nathan to explain his involvement.
He looked uncomfortable.
He kept rubbing his hands together.
I remembered him doing that whenever he was caught lying as a child.
Dad usually stepped in before anyone could question him.
This time, nobody did.
Nathan said he had only followed instructions.
The officer asked whose instructions.
“My father's.”
“Did you know the lease was being used to gain access to the property?”
Nathan hesitated.
“That's what I was told.”
“Did you believe you had permission to live here?”
He glanced at me.
“Dad said it was arranged.”
I looked at the suitcases.
One was black.
The other was dark blue.
Both had been packed carefully.
There were clothes inside.
I could see a folded shirt through the slightly open zipper.
I asked him something.
“Did you think you were moving in permanently?”
Nathan looked embarrassed.
“It's complicated.”
“No. It's a simple question.”
He sighed.
“Dad said I could stay here.”
I looked toward my father.
He didn't deny it.
Nathan continued explaining that the company needed somewhere to reorganize its operations.
He said my father had discussed using one of the rooms as an office.
He also mentioned that the property would provide a place for the family to stay.
I listened without interrupting.
The manor had twelve rooms.
My father had apparently decided that meant twelve opportunities.
He spoke as if the house had been waiting for them.
The officer asked Nathan whether he had personally seen an agreement allowing him to occupy the property.
Nathan said he had seen the lease.
The officer asked whether he had verified my signature.
He said my father had handled that.
I felt a familiar sadness.
Nathan had never learned to question Dad when the answer benefited him.
He had never needed to.
Mom approached me while the officers continued questioning him.
Her face was pale.
“Elena, can we talk?”
I looked at her.
“About what?”
“Please. Just you and me.”
I glanced toward Marcus.
He gave me a small nod.
I stepped a little farther from the table, but remained in the same room.
Mom lowered her voice.
“Your father is under terrible pressure.”
I waited.
“You know the company has been struggling.”
I didn't answer.
“He made mistakes, but he was trying to protect everyone.”
I looked at her.
“Did you know they were bringing a locksmith?”
She looked down.
“I knew they wanted to speak with you.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
She pressed her lips together.
Then she said she hadn't understood that Nathan would use force.
I looked toward the broken wooden frame.
“You knew about the lease?”
She didn't answer immediately.
That silence told me more than her words.
Finally, she said my father had told her it was a temporary arrangement.
I asked her whether she had seen the psychiatric letter.
Her eyes moved toward the binder.
“I thought it was something to help you.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Help me do what?”
She shook her head.
“Your father said you were having trouble making decisions.”
I looked at her for several seconds.
I had attended a few appointments after college.
I had never asked her to become involved.
I had never asked my father to speak to my doctor.
And I had never agreed to give either of them authority over my life.
“Mom, did you know the letter was false?”
She started crying.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
I stepped away.
I didn't want another conversation where her tears became the answer.
The officer asked her to return to the group.
Before she moved, she touched my arm.
“Elena, please don't destroy this family.”
I looked at her hand.
Then I gently moved away.
“I didn't bring a locksmith.”
She began crying harder.
I returned to Marcus.
He was speaking with one of the reporters.
The financial records were being organized for the next stage of the investigation.
I noticed the old notebook in my bag.
The one where I had drawn the library and planned the artist residency.
I took it out.
There was a small pencil sketch of the guest rooms.
I looked at it for a moment.
Those rooms had been meant for women who needed somewhere safe to begin again.
I had never imagined my own family would become the reason I needed to defend the house.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: The Psychiatrist’s Letter Contained a Detail My Father Had Forgotten to Change
My Family Remembered My Address Only After I Bought the One Thing They Could Not Afford to Lose
Part 10 of 20
