He did not answer.
“Keaton.”
“They are connected to some money I owe.”
I turned off the stove.
“How much?”
“Eighteen thousand.”
The room seemed to narrow around me. The lake outside went dark blue under the evening sky.
My family had not just planned a free vacation.
My brother had used my house as bait in a debt I knew nothing about.
My parents had either ignored it or helped him hide it because saying yes to Keaton had always been easier than parenting him.
I asked, “Who are these people?”
He said, “Do not make me say that.”
“Are they coming Friday?”
“Maybe.”
“Then hear me clearly. They are not entering my house. You are not entering my house. Mom and Dad are not entering my house.”
“Arden, please.”
That word from him should have meant something.
It did not.
“Keaton, I love you. I have loved you since you were a little boy hiding cereal under your bed because Mom forgot to buy groceries. But I am not your bank. I am not your shield. And my house is not a poker chip you get to throw on a table when you are scared.”
