Chapter 12 - Tyler's Last Shortcut
We reached the plant at 8:21 a.m.
Closing was in thirty-nine minutes.
A police cruiser blocked the employee entrance.
Tyler sat on the curb with his hands cuffed behind him, shouting at anyone who would listen.
A red gas can sat twenty feet away beside his truck.
My knees weakened with a delayed rush of fear.
Denise met me near the guard booth.
"He's okay. Nobody got hurt."
"What was he doing?"
"He drove in behind a delivery truck before the gate came down. Security recognized the truck from yesterday. He had the gas can and a backpack."
"What was in the backpack?"
Denise looked toward the officer.
"Printed labels. Company labels. Empty sample bottles. Your old locker combination written on a note."
I stared at Tyler.
He saw me and surged to his feet until an officer pushed him back down.
"You ruined everything!" he yelled.
"I ruined your plan to frame me?"
"You were going to sell the house out from under us!"
"It's my house!"
"We live there!"
"And I paid for it while you tried to borrow against it behind my back!"
He shouted over me.
"I was going to pay it back!"
There it was.
The sentence every thief says when the thing he stole was money.
An officer led Tyler toward the cruiser.
He twisted around.
"Ask Dad! He knew! Ask Mom! This wasn't just me!"
Dad stood beside Grace near her car.
He closed his eyes.
The officer put Tyler in the back seat.
Denise handed Grace a printed still from security footage.
It showed Tyler leaving the training corridor Friday morning carrying the missing five-gallon container in a black gym bag.
Time stamp: 5:19 a.m.
Seven minutes after he had entered.
"The original digital footage is preserved," Denise said. "Company counsel will cooperate with law enforcement."
Grace checked her watch.
8:33.
"We need to leave."
I looked at Tyler through the cruiser window.
His anger had finally burned through to panic.
For years, I had fixed his panic.
Paid the late fee.
Covered the truck.
Loaned the deposit.
Smoothed things over with Dad.
Explained him to Mom.
That morning, I did nothing.
I got into Grace's car.
At 8:47, we pulled into the title company's parking lot.
Soren Pike was already there.
So was a representative from Northline.
So was Curtis Bell.
Mom's lawyer stood beside the entrance holding a new stack of papers.
Grace slowed.
"What now?"
Bell walked toward us before we could get out.
"Ms. Kim, my client filed a civil claim asserting beneficial ownership based on decades of family contributions. We're requesting that the closing be postponed."
Grace took the papers.
"Your client tried to record a forged deed twelve hours ago."
"I am aware there are disputed facts."
"And your other client was just arrested at Claire's workplace with materials apparently intended to fabricate contamination evidence."
Bell blinked.
"He was what?"
For the first time, I understood that my mother and brother had stopped telling even their own lawyer the truth.
Grace scanned the complaint.
Then she smiled.
Not warmly.
"This wasn't filed with the court."
Bell's jaw tightened.
"The clerk's electronic system is delayed."
"No," Grace said. "This is a draft stamped by your office."
He didn't answer.
Grace handed it back.
"You're bluffing."
Bell looked at me.
"Your mother is asking for one hour to discuss a family settlement."
I looked through the glass doors at the closing room.
A clock on the wall read 8:53.
"No."
Bell lowered his voice.
"She says if you close, she will tell the police the credit card and loan were your father's idea."
Dad, standing behind me, went perfectly still.
I turned toward him.
And he whispered, "Claire, that part is a lie."
Then Mom stepped out of a parked car across the lot holding one final document over her head.
"Maybe," she shouted, "but this isn't."
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