Chương 13
There were at least two of them.
Curtis swore.
Daniel stepped into the hall and dialed.
He gave the address in a low, controlled voice.
I stayed behind him with Arthur’s letter folded in my hand.
Curtis leaned against the desk.
His face had gone pale.
“How much do they know?”
I asked.
He shook his head.
“Enough.”
“What does enough mean?”
“They know about the trust.”
My stomach dropped.
“How?”
“People talk.”
“People don’t casually know the terms of a private will.”
“They knew Dad was dying.”
“That is not the same thing.”
Curtis stared at the carpet.
“One of them has a connection at the bank.”
Daniel, still on the phone, looked back at him.
I said, “The bank where you applied for the credit line?”
Curtis nodded once.
“So they knew you expected the inheritance.”
“Yes.”
“And now they know something changed.”
“Yes.”
I felt cold.
“How?”
“They called me after the will reading.”
“When?”
“Friday afternoon.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Because I thought I could handle it.”
I laughed once.
It came out sharper than I intended.
“That seems to be your entire personality.”
His face tightened.
Daniel finished the call.
“Officers are coming.”
Curtis muttered something under his breath.
“You can be angry later,” Daniel said.
“I’m angry now.”
“Fine.”
Another knock came.
This one was lighter.
Then silence.
We waited.
Nothing.
After thirty seconds, Daniel moved toward the living room window.
“Don’t stand directly in front of it.”
Curtis gave him a look.
“You watch too much television.”
“Maybe.”
Daniel stayed to the side anyway.
I remained in the hallway.
The front curtains were half open.
From where I stood, I could see the rear quarter of a black SUV parked across the street.
Curtis saw it too.
“That’s them.”
“You recognize the car?”
“Yes.”
“Names.”
Curtis hesitated.
Daniel stepped away from the window.
“Names, Curtis.”
“Evan Rourke and Malcolm Price.”
Daniel typed them into his phone.
“What do they do?”
“Private lending.”
“That is vague.”
“They fund deals banks won’t.”
“That is still vague.”
Curtis’s jaw tightened.
“They lend against future interests.”
My stomach sank.
“Future interests like an inheritance.”
“Yes.”
Daniel looked at him.
“You borrowed against money you had not inherited.”
Curtis rubbed his face.
“I signed personal notes.”
“With what collateral?”
“Expected trust distributions.”
“Which you did not own.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew it then.”
Curtis snapped.
“I knew Dad intended to leave me everything.”
“No.”
Daniel’s voice stayed calm.
“You assumed.”
Curtis looked toward me.
For the first time, there was no anger in his face.
Only exhaustion.
“I thought it was certain.”
I said nothing.
He laughed weakly.
“Everybody did.”
That part was probably true.
At the funeral, people had already spoken to him like the empire belonged to him.
Bankers.
Developers.
Old friends of Arthur who shook Curtis’s hand with slightly more respect than before.
The inheritance had existed socially before it existed legally.
Curtis had started spending against applause.
A police cruiser turned onto the street.
The black SUV pulled away before it reached the driveway.
Curtis saw it and shut his eyes.
Daniel watched the vehicle disappear.
“That was deliberate.”
Curtis nodded.
“They don’t want police involvement.”
“Good.”
“No.”
Curtis looked at him.
“That’s not good.”
Two officers came to the door.
Daniel opened it before Curtis could object.
The first officer was a woman in her thirties with her hair pulled tightly back.
The second was older, broad-shouldered, with a tired expression.
They separated the conversation quickly.
Daniel explained why he had called.
Curtis minimized everything.
I watched him do it.
“We know them.”
“They weren’t threatening anyone.”
“They’re business associates.”
The female officer looked at the marks on the door where the pounding had vibrated the old brass plate.
“Business associates usually schedule meetings.”
Curtis gave a tight smile.
“It’s complicated.”
“Do they have permission to enter the property?”
“No.”
“Do you want them trespassed if they return?”
Curtis hesitated.
That hesitation said more than his answers.
The officer noticed.
“So no?”
“Yes.”
He corrected himself.
“Yes, I want them told not to come back.”
She wrote something down.
“Do you have their contact information?”
Curtis did.
That surprised me.
He gave both numbers from memory.
When the officers asked whether there had been threats by phone or message, Curtis said no.
Daniel looked at him.
I did too.
The officer caught the exchange.
“Something you want to add?”
Curtis shook his head.
“No.”
I said, “He told us these men are connected to private loans he owes.”
Curtis turned toward me.
“Vanessa.”
The officer looked at him.
“How much do you owe?”
“That’s not relevant.”
“If creditors are appearing at your residence and refusing to leave, it becomes relevant to assessing risk.”
“They left.”
“When they saw the cruiser.”
Curtis looked away.
The older officer spoke for the first time.
“Have they threatened you?”
“No.”
“Your wife?”
“No.”
“Anybody else?”
“No.”
The officer watched him.
Curtis shifted his weight.
I knew that movement.
He did it when he lied to customer-service people.
The older officer knew it too.
“Do you owe them legally documented money?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
Curtis looked at Daniel.
Daniel said nothing.
“About eight hundred thousand combined.”
I stared at him.
That was more specific than the two-million-dollar total he had admitted earlier.
“So the rest is other people?”
Curtis closed his eyes.
The female officer looked between us.
“There are more creditors?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
“Do any of them know where you live?”
“I assume.”
“Have any appeared here before?”
“No.”
“Called repeatedly?”
Curtis hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Save the messages.”
I almost laughed at the phrase.
Everyone in my life suddenly wanted messages preserved.
The officers stayed another ten minutes.
They could not arrest anyone for knocking on a door and leaving.
May you like
They could document the visit, advise Curtis to contact them if anyone returned, and recommend that he stop meeting creditors alone.
The practical limits of help seemed to frustrate Daniel more than the officers.
