The scene was pathetic. Leo was handcuffed in front of the relatives who had just been cheering him on. Sarah was screaming about “family privacy,” and David was white as a ghost, realizing that the “power” he thought he held over his mother was an illusion built on her kindness. A kindness that had officially run dry.
The next morning, the grandmother didn’t wait for them to wake up. She didn’t make breakfast. She didn’t brew the coffee they took for granted.
When David stumbled into the kitchen, he found three suitcases sitting by the front door and a man in a sharp suit standing next to his mother.
“This is Mr. Henderson, my attorney,” she said, sipping tea. “He is here to oversee the transition. You have until noon to vacate. The locks will be changed at 12:01.”
“Mom, you can’t be serious,” David stammered. “Leo is in a holding cell! We need to bail him out, we need money for a lawyer—”
