Carla unfolded Ethan’s note as the footsteps stopped outside her office.
The handwriting was uneven but deliberate.
Ethan had written the truck’s license plate at the top, then listed the days and times the men had visited Robert’s home.
Beneath those details were three sentences he had remembered from behind the kitchen doorway.
They said they were from the bank.
Grandpa gave them two envelopes.
Tonight they want him to sign the house.
At the bottom, Ethan had drawn a rectangle around one final sentence.
The badge had no picture.
Carla looked through the glass wall of her office.
Two men stood near the teller line.
One wore a gray jacket despite the Texas heat.
The other wore a blue shirt with a plastic identification card clipped near his chest.
From a distance, it looked official.
Up close, Carla could see that the card carried a generic gold seal and no photograph.
The taller man pointed toward her office.
“We’re here about Robert Carter,” he repeated.
Carla folded the note once and placed it beneath her keyboard.
She had already pressed the silent alert button.
Now she reached for the desk phone and called the security guard’s extension.
“Could you bring our visitors into the conference area?” she asked evenly.
“And please have someone check the parking lot.”
The guard understood her tone.
He did not look toward Ethan.
He simply approached the men and gestured toward the chairs outside Carla’s office, where every movement would be captured by two security cameras.
Carla turned back to Ethan.
“I need you to stay in the records room for a few minutes.”
“I can help.”
“You already have.”
His eyes filled with worry.
“They know where Grandpa lives.”
“And now I know what they look like.”
She opened the small records room behind her office.
Ethan stepped inside, still clutching the deposit receipt from the coin machine.
Before Carla closed the door, he whispered, “Please don’t let them take our house.”
Carla swallowed.
“I’m going to make sure they tell the truth.”
She left the door slightly open so Ethan could hear her voice.
The man in the gray jacket entered first.
His companion remained close behind him.
“Ms.
Reeves?” the taller man asked.
“That’s right.”
He offered a smile that never reached his eyes.
“We handle distressed-property resolutions.
Mr.
Carter has failed to cooperate, and we’ve been authorized to complete the transfer tonight.”
“Authorized by whom?”
“The appropriate parties.”
Carla waited.
People who were telling the truth usually filled silence with facts.
People who were lying often tried to fill it with authority.
The man leaned forward.
“Robert Carter is two months behind.
He cannot cure the default.
We offered him a private settlement that keeps the matter from becoming unpleasant.”
