Chapter 2 - THE BLOODLINE WARZ
The glaring red digital clock on Taryn’s bedside table read 3:42 AM when my phone began to vibrate violently against the glass nightstand.
I didn’t even have to look at the screen to know who it was. The persistent, frantic rhythm of the buzzing was a language my family had spoken for a decade. It was the rhythm of a house on fire, and as always, I was expected to carry the bucket.
I pressed the receiver to my ear without speaking.
"Maren," my mother’s voice came through, jagged, breathless, and laced with a terrifying edge of hysteria. "You have to pull the police back. You have to call that Detective Ortiz right now and tell him it was a mistake."
I sat up, pulling Taryn’s spare duvet tight around my shoulders. The air in her guest bedroom was cool, but sweat was pricking at the back of my neck. "Mom, it’s almost four in the morning. What are you talking about?"
"Cole is at the station!" she screamed, the sound distorting through the speaker. "Two squad cars pulled up to his apartment complex while he was asleep! They hauled him out in handcuffs, Maren! In front of his neighbors! In front of his girlfriend! They treat him like a violent criminal because of your lies!"
"They treat him like a criminal because he is a criminal, Mom," I said, my voice steady, though my heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "He broke into Grandpa’s house. He stole a laptop. He broken into my car and tried to plant forged documents and stolen credit cards in my trunk to frame me for felony fraud!"
"He was trying to fix it!" she wailed, completely ignoring the fact that her eldest son had tried to send her daughter to a federal penitentiary. "He was scared! He panicked because you cornered him with your hotshot lawyer friend! He’s your brother, Maren! You shared a womb, you grew up under the same roof, and you’re letting strangers throw him in a cage over money?!"
"It’s not just money, Mom! He stole my identity! He ran up $26,000 on cards in my name, he tried to take a lien out on Grandpa’s home, and he laid his hands on me!" I took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing the tremor out of my tone. "Did Cole tell you that part? Did he tell you he locked me in a room and shoved me into a wall when I confronted him?"
A suffocating silence stretched over the line. For two seconds, I foolishly thought I had broken through the concrete wall of her denial.
Then came her cold, razor-sharp response.
"You always were too sensitive," Denise whispered, her tone morphing from hysterical to deeply bitter. "You always wanted to be the victim, didn't you? Cole has a fire in him, yes. He gets passionate. But you... you’re cold. You’re calculating. You’re destroying this family just to prove you’re smarter than everyone else."
"I’m done, Mom," I said softly, the last thread of filial duty snapping inside my chest with a quiet, devastating pop. "Do not call me again unless it’s through Taryn’s law office."
"If you let them indict him, Maren," she hissed, her voice dripping with poison, "you don't have a mother anymore. Do you hear me? I will bury you before I let you destroy my son."
The line went dead.
I sat in the dark, staring at the glowing screen. A tear finally escaped, tracing a scalding path down my cheek, but I wiped it away fiercely. Taryn leaned against the doorframe of the bedroom, holding two steaming mugs of tea. She had clearly been listening from the hallway.
"She’s choosing her hill to die on," Taryn said gently, walking over and handing me a mug.
"She’s choosing a monster," I corrected, my voice barely a whisper.
"Then we make sure the monster stays behind bars," Taryn replied, her attorney gaze razor-sharp in the dim light. "Ortiz called me ten minutes ago. Cole’s arraignment is set for 1:00 PM today. His attorney is going to ask for low bail, citing deep family ties to the community. We need Grandpa at that courthouse, Maren. If your grandfather stands in front of the judge and tells them Cole is a danger to his own blood, the judge will set bail at an amount Cole’s shell companies can't touch."
By 11:00 AM, Taryn and I arrived at Grandpa’s modest suburban home to pick him up. The air was crisp, the sky a dull, bruised grey. But as we pulled into the driveway, my blood ran cold.
A sleek silver sedan was parked on the curb. Standing on the front porch, pounding on the newly installed deadbolts, was Uncle Richard—Mom’s older brother—and Aunt Brenda. Beside them stood Aunt Brenda’s son, Julian, holding a thick Manila folder.
Grandpa was standing behind the reinforced glass storm door, his hands trembling on his cane, refusing to open up.
"Open the door, Dad!" Uncle Richard yelled, his face flush with rage. "You’re letting that selfish girl dictate your life! Cole is rotting in a holding cell right now while you sit in there acting like a tyrant!"
I threw my car door open and stepped onto the pavement. "Get off his porch, Richard!" I shouted, walking up the driveway with Taryn right behind me.
Uncle Richard spun around, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Look who finally decided to show up. The golden child. The snitch."
"Leave him alone," I snapped, stepping between Richard and the front door. "Grandpa is eighty-two years old. He doesn't need you harassing him after everything Cole put him through."
"What Cole put him through?!" Aunt Brenda chimed in, taking a step toward me, her fake jewelry jingling violently. "Cole was trying to manage Dad’s estate! Dad is losing his mind, Maren! He forgets things! Cole was just consolidating his assets so the state wouldn't take them! And you... you called the cops on your own blood over a few financial discrepancies?!"
"Discrepancies?" Taryn stepped forward, pulling her legal badge and card from her blazer. "I’m Taryn Vance, legal counsel for both Mr. Arthur Hayes and Maren. What your nephew committed was grand larceny, aggravated identity theft, wire fraud, and breaking and entering. Over $200,000 in paper trail has already been processed by federal and state investigators."
Julian, my cousin, sneered. "We don't care about your corporate lawyer legal jargon. We brought emergency power-of-attorney revocation papers. Dad is going to sign them today, strip Maren’s access, and post Cole’s bail using the equity in his house."
The front door clicked open.
Grandpa stepped out, leaning heavily on his wooden cane. His shoulders were slouched, but his eyes—clear, bright blue, and fierce—were locked directly onto his son and daughter.
"Dad!" Uncle Richard took a step forward. "Tell this girl to step aside."
"Richard," Grandpa’s voice vibrated with a terrifying, quiet authority that made everyone freeze. "Brenda. You stand on my porch, in front of my home, and you demand I sacrifice my granddaughter to save a thief?"
"He’s your grandson!" Brenda barked.
"And he stripped my dignity!" Grandpa roared, his voice echoing across the quiet suburban street. "He stole my savings, he forged my name, and then he put hands on Maren! Where were you when he was draining my accounts? Where were you when Maren was carrying my groceries and taking me to doctor appointments? You were sitting in your comfortable houses, ignoring my calls until Cole promised you a slice of the pie!"
Uncle Richard’s face paled slightly. "Dad, that’s not fair—"
"I am as sharp in the mind today as I was when I built the house you grew up in," Grandpa said, raising his cane and pointing it square at Richard’s chest. "I have already executed a new will. I have established a legal trust managed exclusively by Maren and Taryn’s firm. Neither Cole, nor you, nor Brenda, nor Denise will ever touch a single cent of my estate. If you don't clear off my property in ten seconds, Detective Ortiz will add trespass charges to the docket today."
Brenda gaped like a fish out of water. Julian glared at me with pure, unadulterated hatred.
"You’re going to burn in hell for this, Maren," Julian spat under his breath as he grabbed his mother’s arm. "You broke this family."
"No," I replied, watching them retreat toward their car. "Cole broke it. I’m just sweeping up the glass."
We arrived at the county courthouse thirty minutes before the bail hearing. The marble halls were freezing and echoed with the hushed, anxious whispers of public defenders and desperate families.
Inside the courtroom, Denise was already sitting on the wooden gallery benches. When she saw Grandpa walk in arm-in-arm with me, her eyes flamed with venom. She didn't look at her father with concern; she looked at us like we were executioners.
A side door opened, and a bailiff led Cole into the room.
My stomach plummeted. He was wearing an orange orange jumpsuit, his hands cuffed at the waist, his feet shackled. The arrogant, slicked-back hair he usually wore was messy, and a dark shadow of stubble covered his jaw.
For a fraction of a second, when his eyes met mine, I saw a flash of fear. But as he sat down next to his court-appointed defense attorney, that fear instantly hardened into a mask of pure, predatory spite.
"All rise," the bailiff announced as Judge Eleanor Vance took the bench.
The hearing moved with terrifying speed. Cole’s attorney painted him as a struggling young entrepreneur who had fallen victim to a family dispute over an inheritance. "Your Honor, this is a bitter domestic argument blown out of proportion," the attorney argued. "Mr. Hayes has strong ties to the community and no prior violent felony convictions. We request personal recognizance or a modest bail."
Then prosecutor Assistant District Attorney Marcus Miller stood up.
"Your Honor, the state contends that the defendant poses an extreme flight risk and an active threat to the victims," Miller announced. He gestured to the gallery. "We have the primary victim, Mr. Arthur Hayes, present today, along with key witness Maren Hayes. Furthermore, state investigators uncovered evidence last night that the defendant possessed a fraudulent passport in a secondary name, as well as a one-way ticket to Cabo San Lucas booked for tomorrow morning."
I gasped softly. Taryn squeezed my hand under the table. Cole hadn't just been stealing—he was planning to run, leaving me holding the bag for his mountain of debt.
Denise gasped loud enough to draw glances from the bailiffs. She clearly hadn't known about the passport or the plane ticket.
"In light of the new evidence," Judge Vance declared, her gavel resting heavily in her palm, "and given the grave nature of the identity theft and burglary charges, bail is set at $500,000 cash only. The defendant will surrender all travel documents immediately."
Bang.
The sound of the gavel falling sounded like a gunshot.
May you like
Cole’s head snapped toward the gallery. As the bailiffs stood him up to lead him away, his eyes locked onto mine. He didn't look at his crying mother. He looked straight at me, his lips moving silently to form four words that chilled me to the absolute bone:
This isn't over yet.
