“Say it again,” I tell him. “Explain where the money went.”
Travis’s eyes widen. “Turn that off.”
I keep the phone steady. “No.”
His face changes, anger rising fast. “You come into my house—”
My father’s voice cracks, small but fierce. “It’s not your house.”
Silence lands like a slap.
Travis turns slowly. “What did you say?”
My father swallows hard. His hands shake.
“It’s not your house,” he repeats, his voice trembling. “It was supposed to be mine. Our son paid for us to live here… and you turned it into a cage.”
My mother starts crying silently, wiping her tears with the edge of her sleeve like she’s trying not to cause anyone any more trouble.
Travis’s jaw tightens. He takes a step toward my father.
I move between them immediately.
“Touch him,” I say flatly, “and you’ll be in handcuffs before your boots hit the porch.”
Travis laughs, but it comes out wrong. “You think you can do that here?”
I hold up my phone. “Yeah,” I say. “Because I’m recording you admitting you intercepted my money.”
His eyes dart toward the back door.
Then he does what cowards always do when the walls start closing in.
He lunges at me.