Chapter 11 - CLEANING THE HOUSE
The house was finally empty, but it didn't feel like a home. It felt like a crime scene.
For three days, the only sounds inside the walls were the rhythmic scraping of tape being pulled off boxes, the clatter of moving crates, and the quiet, heavy footsteps of investigators cataloging every item bought with stolen funds.
Frank’s forensic team had taken up residence in the dining room. Stack upon stack of receipts, bank ledgers, and forged medical documents covered the mahogany table.
I stood in the center of the living room wearing work boots and a faded canvas jacket, holding a heavy contractor’s trash bag.
"Every piece of furniture," I told the movers Frank had hired. "The leather couches. The television. The custom lighting. Every single item my mother bought after I deployed goes out the door."
"Where do you want it sent, Mr. Vance?" the lead mover asked, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"Auction it all off," I said flatly. "Sell it and put every dollar back into the court-ordered restitution fund."
Upstairs, the door to the master bedroom stood wide open.
Gwen was sitting on the edge of the newly delivered, simple wooden bed frame we had bought together the day before. She wasn't wearing the oversized sweatshirt anymore. She wore a soft cream-colored sweater that fit her properly, though her frame was still painfully thin. Her thick knit beanie sat on the nightstand, replaced by a simple, soft cotton scarf wrapped gently around her head to cover the healing cuts on her scalp.
I walked up the stairs, stopping at her doorway.
"How are you holding up?" I asked softly, setting down a glass of fresh orange juice on her nightstand.
Gwen looked up, a small, genuine smile flickering across her lips—the first real smile I had seen in four years. "It's quiet, David. For the first time in as long as I can remember... I don't hear footsteps in the hallway."
I walked over and sat beside her on the bed, taking her thin hand in mine. "The locks on all the doors have been rekeyed. Frank set up a security system with direct dispatch to the precinct. Nobody steps onto this property without my clearance."
"What happens now?" she asked quietly, her thumb tracing the knuckles of my hand. "With your mother? With Paige?"
"They're held without bail," I said, my voice hardening slightly. "Frank filed thirty-two separate counts of financial fraud, elder abuse, and false imprisonment. The grand jury met yesterday morning. They aren't getting out anytime soon."
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Gwen took a slow breath, leaning her head against my shoulder. "I was so afraid you wouldn't believe me, David. When you walked through that door four days ago... I thought they had already told you their story. I thought you would think I was crazy."
"I knew the second I looked at your eyes," I whispered, kissing the top of her head. "A soldier learns to spot a hostage, Gwen. And I promised myself four years ago that if I came home alive, I’d protect you with everything I had."
