Chapter 2 - The Setup and the Conspiracy
I shut my eyes tightly as they loaded me into the vehicle. For years, I had made excuses for the behavior of my relatives. Russell was overly controlling because of his business anxieties. Vanessa felt resentful because Grandmother consistently trusted my judgment. Grant stayed quiet because he despised confrontation. There was always a justification ready. Yet, an excuse is never the same as innocence.
Just two hours prior, Vanessa had walked through the front door carrying a dark leather folder. We had laid my grandmother, Margaret Bennett, to rest four days earlier. She was the sole owner of Bennett Ridge Lodge, a seventy-year-old sanctuary nestled in the western mountains, boasting a stone lodge, twelve guest chalets, a stable, and over forty acres of scenic valley views. I had returned home on an emergency bereavement leave. That afternoon, while sorting through personal correspondence, Vanessa dropped the portfolio onto the kitchen counter.
"We need to finalize the property transfer before you head back to your post," she stated coldly.
"I have another week left on my leave."
"Potential buyers will not wait around."
I raised my gaze to meet hers. "What buyers?"
Her expression tightened instantly. "This lodge has operated at a deficit for years. Dad and I found a legal method to salvage what remains." She unzipped the folder, pushing a transfer deed toward me. The contract would sign over the lodge, chalets, acreage, and commercial licenses to a corporate holding entity for a nominal fee of ten dollars.
"Who operates this company?" I asked.
"It belongs to us."
"You and Russell?"
"To our family circle."
"I am part of this family. Why have I never heard of this entity?"
Vanessa snapped the folder shut. "Because you have been absent."
"I called Grandmother every single week."
"Phone conversations do not replace physical presence."
I reached for my mobile device, but Vanessa snatched it away instantly. At that exact moment, the rear entrance swung open. Russell stepped inside holding one of Grandmother’s antique brass items. I recognized it instantly; it had rested on the mantelpiece throughout my childhood.
"You are going to sign," he demanded.
"Never."
May you like
His initial strike caught my forearm as I instinctively lifted it to shield my face. The force bent my wrist backward, sending me crashing against the edge of the coffee table. The second blow landed near my shoulder blade after I hit the floor. Vanessa stepped past the scattered papers, retrieved the contract, and knelt beside me. Neither of them realized our neighbor, Evelyn Price, had witnessed Russell forcing the rear door open. She had immediately dialed emergency services, sprinted down the driveway, and flagged down the military vehicle passing by.
At the medical center, diagnostic scans verified multiple fractures in my wrist, a hairline crack near the shoulder, and extensive bruising along my ribcage. A specialist fitted my arm with a temporary cast, the throbbing pain a constant reminder of their greed.
