Chapter 14 - The Prodigal Son Returns
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David arrived at 12:01 PM.
He didn't knock. He stood on the front porch, staring at the heavy oak door as if it were wired with explosives. I opened it and stepped back, offering no greeting.
He looked entirely broken. Gone was the arrogant, smirking man from the courtroom. He wore a wrinkled sweater, and he hadn't shaved in days. He walked into the foyer, looking around at the house he had grown up in, the house he had tried to steal, with haunted eyes.
“Hi, Mom,” he whispered, his voice cracking. It was the first time he had called me Mom since the nightmare began.
I pointed my cane toward the kitchen. “Sit.”
He walked into the kitchen and instinctively moved toward Arthur’s old chair. He caught himself at the last second, hovering awkwardly, before taking a stool at the island.
I poured two cups of coffee and slid one across the marble counter. I didn't sit. I stood on the opposite side, the legal pad resting under my hand.
“I found the box in the guesthouse,” I said flatly.
David closed his eyes and let out a long, shuddering breath. “So Evan failed at that, too.”
“You knew your father left letters.”
“Dad gave me mine three days before his heart attack,” David confessed, staring into his black coffee. “He told me not to open it until he was gone.”
“What did yours say?”
David traced the rim of the mug. “It said that I needed to stop confusing being rescued with being loved. And it said he was cutting me off financially forever.”
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That shocked me. Arthur had a soft heart; cutting our only son off must have torn him to pieces.
“Why did you forge the loan, David?” I asked, my voice dropping the maternal warmth, shifting into an interrogation. “Explain Harbor Point to me. Now.”
