“We’re going to live inside that house, silly! Right, Dad?” Kelly asked.
Brandon nodded, although he could barely believe it himself. But the moment he pushed the double doors open, he sensed something was wrong. The house was a mess—a table lay on its side in the hallway, a painting was impaled on the banister, and a closet had been toppled over.
Brandon dumped the luggage on the top step, ran after the car, and told the driver to call 911. A few hours later, he stood among slashed sofas and broken furniture, speaking to the cops.
“We’ve examined the entire perimeter of the house and found no sign of forced entry, sir,” the officer said. “This, combined with the fact that the security system appears to have been overridden using the correct code, suggests that whoever vandalized this place had a legitimate means of gaining entry.”
“Like a key? You’re telling me the person who did this just walked in here?”
“I’d suggest you change the locks, sir,” the officer nodded. “Whoever did this was looking for something and got very angry when they didn’t find it.”
As the cops left, Brandon suspected the elderly man’s son was behind everything.
The next day, Mr. Grives’s secretary arrived early. She took Brandon shopping and got him cleaned up at a barber before taking him to the company. In the office that once belonged to Mr. Grives, Brandon was about to go through the files on the computer when the doors burst open.
“You must be Brandon!” A middle-aged man in a dark suit entered the office and shut the door behind him. “I’m Christopher, one of Mr. Grives’s former business partners, and I’m here to save you from a whole heap of trouble.”
“I’m sorry? What trouble?” Brandon asked.
