Chapter 2 - The Locksmith
I did not waste a single second staring at the mysterious metal box hidden in my wall.
I pulled out my phone and dialed the number of an emergency commercial locksmith I had treated in the emergency room two years ago.
He owed me a massive favor for saving his hand from a severe industrial machinery accident.
He arrived at my lake house in less than thirty minutes, carrying a heavy bag of specialized drilling tools and digital decoders.
He took one look at the safe and immediately told me it was a high-end commercial drop box usually used for retail cash businesses.
I stood in the doorway and watched anxiously as he expertly bypassed the digital keypad and popped the heavy steel door open.
He packed up his tools quickly, thanked me again for saving his fingers, and left me completely alone with the open safe.
I reached inside the dark metal cavity and pulled out a thick, legal-sized manila envelope bursting with documents.
I dumped the contents onto my bare mattress and stared at the scattered papers in absolute, sickening disbelief.
There were dozens of short-term rental agreements signed by strangers from all over the country.
My mother had created a fake limited liability company and had been actively renting my lake house out for massive profits on the internet.
She was charging five hundred dollars a night and pocketing every single penny while I worked myself to the bone to pay the mortgage.
I dug deeper into the pile and found something that made the blood freeze completely solid in my veins.
It was a commercial loan document borrowing eighty thousand dollars from a private, unlicensed lending company.
The collateral listed on the loan was the physical deed to my precious lake house.
My mother had illegally forged my signature and brought in a corrupt notary to officially approve the fraudulent paperwork.
If this shady loan was not paid back in full by the end of the month, the aggressive lenders could legally seize my property.
I realized that this weekend trip with twenty guests was not a family vacation at all.
They were throwing a massive party to celebrate the successful theft of my entire life savings.
I grabbed my car keys, drove into town, and immediately hired the most ruthless private security contracting firm I could find.
I paid them an exorbitant emergency fee to completely gut the interior of my house before sunset.
I watched with cold satisfaction as a team of workers aggressively removed every single piece of furniture, every appliance, and every lightbulb from the premises.
We rolled up the carpets, unscrewed the expensive cabinet doors, and completely shut off the main water valve at the street.
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Just as the crew was loading the final moving truck, a loud, obnoxious sports car came tearing down my gravel driveway.
It was my younger brother Keaton, arriving a full day early with a smug smile on his face and a cooler full of beer in his passenger seat.
