The active 911 call fills the screen.
“Nobody moves,” I said.
Nobody did.
David tried first, because men like that always mistake age and volume for authority.
“Now hold on,” he said. “This is family business.”
I looked at him.
“Sit down.”
Something in my voice made him obey before his pride could catch up.
Michael stood halfway.
“Dad, you’re overreacting.”
The dispatcher’s voice came through the phone and asked whether everyone was safe.
I didn’t take my eyes off Michael.
“My wife is injured,” I said. “The people who were pressing her to sign property papers are in front of me.”
Olivia started to cry then, but it was not the kind of crying that comes from compassion.
It was panic.
There is a difference.
Panic looks for exits.
Compassion looks toward the person on the floor.
Sarah’s voice came from the living room.
“Check the second page.”
The whole kitchen changed.
Michael’s eyes snap toward the folder.
Olivia said his name once under her breath.
I walked back to the coffee table slowly, because every part of me wanted to move fast.
Under the deed draft was a clipped witness page with Olivia’s name typed beside a blank signature line.
