I didn't sleep particularly well that night.
The nail file kept coming back to my mind.
So did the conversation outside the bunkhouse.
Garrett had whispered something.
Tiffany had smiled.
I knew I was being suspicious.
But suspicion didn't appear out of nowhere.
It came from the things I had already seen.
The expired temporary tag.
The missing diamond ring.
The pink foreclosure notice.
The financial recovery call.
And now the attempt to open a locked section of my house.
I went into my workshop after breakfast.
The room smelled of timber and machine oil.
My tools were arranged along the walls.
I checked the equipment and looked at the camera monitor.
The camera had recorded movement during the previous evening.
I opened the footage.
At first, there was nothing unusual.
Garrett and Tiffany had been outside the bunkhouse.
They were standing near the wall, away from the main house.
Then Garrett reached into his jacket.
He pulled out a thick packet of documents.
Tiffany looked at it.
I increased the volume.
Their voices became clearer.
"These are the papers?"
Garrett nodded.
"Everything is in here."
She looked down at the packet.
"What exactly does he have to sign?"
"Once he signs, we can handle things."
I leaned closer to the monitor.
Garrett turned a page.
He continued speaking.
"We'll have access to what we need. Then the rest becomes much easier."
Tiffany sounded nervous.
"What if he doesn't agree?"
Garrett stopped moving.
He looked toward the main house.
Then he reached into his pocket.
He pulled out something heavy.
The camera didn't show every detail clearly.
But I could see him holding a solid object in his hand.
Tiffany stared at it.
She said something quietly.
Garrett answered.
"He won't have much choice if he understands what's at stake."
I felt my stomach tighten.
I watched the recording again.
Then I watched it a third time.
The packet was clearly intended for me.
They had come prepared with legal documents.
They were discussing getting my signature.
And whatever Garrett had taken from his pocket had made Tiffany uneasy.
I couldn't tell exactly what it was.
I wasn't going to invent an explanation.
But I knew enough to stop treating their visit as an ordinary family reunion.
I sat down at my workbench.
My coffee had gone cold.
I thought about the day Garrett had demanded my truck.
I remembered how quickly his expression changed when I refused.
I remembered the basement door.
I remembered the words Tiffany had spoken while I packed.
Then I thought about the pink foreclosure notice.
Their finances were in trouble.
They had sold their belongings.
They had arrived expecting to live in my house.
And they were carrying documents they wanted me to sign.
I didn't know every detail of their plan.
But I knew I needed professional help.
I closed the camera footage.
Then I picked up my phone.
My attorney had handled my property records and business matters for years.
She knew how the estate was held.
She knew the history of the land.
Most importantly, she knew exactly what had been signed and whose name appeared on the official documents.
I called her.
She answered after a few rings.
"Harrison?"
"I need you to come out here."
Her voice became serious.
"What's happened?"
"My son is here."
There was a pause.
"Garrett?"
"Yes."
She asked whether everything was all right.
I looked toward the workshop door.
"No. I don't think it is."
I explained about the moving van.
The foreclosure notice.
The attempt to open the east-wing doors.
Then I told her about the recording.
I didn't exaggerate.
I described exactly what I had seen and heard.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she asked me to preserve the footage.
"Don't delete anything. Keep the original recording."
"I will."
"And don't sign anything they bring you."
I looked toward the main house.
"I wasn't planning to."
She told me she would come the following day.
We discussed the time.
She would arrive with the relevant property documents and the records we needed.
I thanked her.
Then I ended the call.
I remained seated for a few minutes.
The workshop was quiet.
I could hear the heating system operating in the main lodge.
I looked at the camera monitor.
For eleven years, I had believed that distance was enough to protect me from Garrett.
Now he was standing on my property.
I wasn't going to let him use my age or my trust against me.
I backed up the recording.
Then I made another copy.
I saved the original footage separately.
After that, I locked the workshop.
Click here to continue reading: PART 12: The Next Morning My Son Brought Me Coffee and a Gold Pen, Pretending He Wanted to Help Me When He Really Wanted My Signature
My Son Had Not Spoken to Me in Eleven Years, Yet He Arrived at My Mountain Home Acting as Though He Already Owned It
Part 11 of 20
