Chapter 5 - THE MAN FROM THE BANK
The man from the bank introduced himself as Russell Keene.
He wore a gray suit despite the heat and carried a leather folder that looked too expensive for a neighborhood where half the lawns were dying.
Two other men waited by the SUV.
I crossed back to my house with Sheriff Harland beside me.
Russell smiled when he saw me.
“Mrs. James. I’m glad we caught you.”
“You didn’t have an appointment.”
“This won’t take long.”
He glanced at my stomach.
Then at the sheriff.
His smile weakened.
“We’re here to discuss voluntary vacancy options.”
I stared at him.
“I still have fourteen days.”
“Technically, yes.”
“Then come back technically later.”
Sheriff Harland looked away, and I swear he almost smiled.
Russell cleared his throat.
“We’re prepared to offer relocation assistance if you surrender the property early and waive dispute rights.”
There it was.
Fast.
Quiet.
Sign away the problem before she understood she had one.
“How much?”
“Five thousand dollars.”
I laughed.
I couldn’t help it.
This man had come to a pregnant woman’s porch the morning after her elderly neighbor died and offered five thousand dollars to erase her home.
“No.”
His smile vanished.
“Mrs. James, foreclosure will proceed.”
“Maybe.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?”
I held up the envelope.
He saw the old survey.
His face changed before he could stop it.
That was how I knew Mrs. Whitcomb had been right.
“You need to leave,” Sheriff Harland said.
Russell straightened.
“This is a civil matter.”
“You’re trespassing after the homeowner asked you to leave.”
“I represent the lender.”
“And I represent the part where she said leave.”
The two men near the SUV shifted.
Russell looked at me again.
“You should be careful with documents you don’t understand.”
I felt my daughter kick.
Not my daughter yet, technically.
But she felt real enough to give me courage.
“I’m getting a lawyer.”
His jaw tightened.
“You may not have time.”
Sheriff Harland stepped closer.
“That sounded like pressure.”
“It was advice.”
“No,” I said quietly. “It was fear.”
Russell looked at me.
I held the envelope against my chest.
“You came here because Mrs. Whitcomb died, didn’t you?”
He said nothing.
“You thought whatever she knew died with her.”
His face emptied.
Then his phone buzzed.
He checked the screen.
For one second, real panic flickered across his face.
He walked back to the SUV without another word.
Sheriff Harland watched them drive away.
Then he looked at me.
“You were right.”
“About what?”
“He wasn’t here to help you move.”
The sheriff unfolded the paper Mrs. Whitcomb had left for him.
“Mrs. Whitcomb wrote one sentence in my letter twice.”
“What sentence?”
May you like
He looked toward her empty porch.
“If Russell Keene comes before the funeral home, he knows exactly what he’s looking for.”
