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stepped out. Beverly was sixty years old, sharp as a tack, and had been my personal attorney and close friend since she helped me incorporate my engineering firm thirty years ago.
I came home from my trip and slid my key into the lock. It wouldn’t turn. I tried again. Nothing. I called my son. “Ryan… what’s going on?” He sighed. “Dad, this is for your own good. We sold the house.” Behind him, Diane nodded like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. “You’ll be better off, Walter.” I slowly sat down on the porch steps, looking at the door that used to be mine. Then I smiled… and texted my lawyer.
And stepping out of the front doors of the sedan were two uniformed police officers.
