Chapter 2 - The Mask of the Golden Son
The monitor’s beeping spiked sharply, ringing through the room like a frantic alarm bell.
*Ninety beats per minute. One hundred. One hundred and ten.*
"Mom, breathe. Look at me, breathe!" I leaned over her, placing both hands on her trembling shoulders, terrified her surgical incision would tear under the strain of her panic. "I know. Tyler told me. I know what he did."
Evelyn’s breath hitched. A broken, pathetic sob tore from her chest. "Tyler saw? Oh God... not my sweet boy. Not Tyler..."
"Tyler is safe. He’s locked in my room," I said firmly, holding her gaze, forcing my voice to remain low, steady, and commanding even as my own soul was screaming. "Listen to me, Mom. You are in my house. You are under my roof. Jason does not have a key to this door, and he will never lay a hand on you again. What did he make you sign?"
Mom swallowed hard, her chest hitching as she tried to force oxygen into her failing lungs. She closed her eyes tightly, tears streaming freely down the wrinkles of her face.
"The house..." she whispered brokenly. "The deed to my home. And... the family trust your father left."
My blood ran cold. The family trust wasn't vast, but it contained the life insurance payout from when my father died six years ago, along with the paid-off deed to Mom's four-bedroom Victorian home downtown—the home she had explicitly stated in her will was to be split fifty-fifty between Jason and me, with my half reserved to fund Tyler’s college education and secure our future.
"He told me... he owed money," Mom gasped, her hand still clutching my wrist with white-knuckled desperation. "Terrible men, Sarah. He said they were going to break his legs. He said they were going to come to your house and hurt Tyler if he didn't pay them by Friday. He said... he said if I didn't sign the transfer over to him so he could take out an immediate equity loan... he’d let them come here."
The sheer depravity of it made my head spin. He hadn't just assaulted her; he had weaponized Tyler’s safety against our mother to get what he wanted.
"Did he bring a notary?" I asked, my voice deadly quiet. "You can't transfer a deed or a trust without a legal notary stamp, Mom. A thumbprint on a scrap of paper isn't enough."
"He had a woman with him," Mom sobbed quietly. "Two nights ago... before you got back. She stayed in the hallway. She came into the room for just a second with a stamp. A woman with dark hair and a leather jacket. She stamped it after he... after he held me down."
A crooked notary. Jason had brought an accomplice right into my home while I was picking up heart medication.
Suddenly, the harsh buzz of my cell phone vibrating against the nightstand shattered the room’s heavy atmosphere.
Mom gasped, shrinking back into the pillows as if the phone itself were a weapon.
I picked up the device. The screen glowed brightly in the darkness.
**Incoming Call: Jason**
My thumb hovered over the red decline button, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
*Think, Sarah. Think,* I ordered myself.
If I lashed out now—if I screamed at him, accused him, threatened him—he would know the trap was sprung. He would run, or worse, he would file those fraudulent papers at the county recorder’s office the second the doors opened at 8:00 a.m. Once a deed was transferred and an equity loan disbursed to offshore accounts or shady creditors, untangling it in court could take years. Years we didn't have. Mom’s health couldn't survive an extended legal war, and Jason was dangerous. Desperate men with loan sharks on their tails were capable of anything.
I needed proof. I needed undeniable, airtight evidence that would put him behind bars before he could touch a single penny of Mom’s estate.
I took a slow, deep breath, schooling my voice into the exhausted, weary tone I had carried for the past three weeks of caregiving.
I swiped the green bar and brought the phone to my ear.
"Hello?"
"Sarah! Hey, morning, sis," Jason’s voice came through the speaker, sickeningly cheerful, oozing with fraternal warmth. "Did I wake you? I know it's early, but I was just heading out to get some of those fresh cinnamon rolls Mom loves from the bakery downtown. Thought I’d bring them over around six-thirty, relieve you so you can get a few hours of sleep before your shift."
I gripped the edge of Mom’s bed until my fingernails bent painfully against the wood.
"Oh... hey, Jason," I said, letting out a synthetic yawn. "No, you didn't wake me. Mom had a rough night with her coughing, so I was up giving her water anyway."
"Ah, poor Mom," Jason said, his voice dripping with faux sympathy. "She’s really slipping, isn't she? Honestly, Sarah, I’ve been thinking... it might be time to look into that hospice facility out in Oakridge. It’s too much on you. You look like a ghost lately."
*Hospice.* He wanted her locked away in a facility where visits were restricted and where her inevitable sudden decline wouldn't raise any eyebrows.
"Let’s... let's talk about it when you get here," I replied, forcing my tone to sound tired, submissive, overwhelmed. "Cinnamon rolls sound amazing, Jason. Tyler will love that."
"Great! I’ll be there in an hour. Oh, and Sarah?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't worry about Mom’s mail or any of those legal notices from the hospital. I saw a few letters on the kitchen counter yesterday and took them to my place to sort through. I'm handling all the finances now, okay? You just focus on Tyler."
"Thanks, Jason," I whispered, bile coating my teeth. "You’re a lifesaver."
"That’s what family is for, sis. See you soon."
The call clicked off.
I lowered the phone. My mother was staring at me, her eyes wide with terror. "Sarah... what are you doing? Why did you tell him to come here?!"
I leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her papery temple.
May you like
"Because, Mom," I said, my voice hardening into pure, unyielding steel, "he thinks he’s walking into a house full of victims. But he has no idea who he’s dealing with."
***
