I took a half-step backward. The instinct to retreat, to protect myself from the inevitable legal destruction, was overwhelming.
Bear’s massive hand landed gently on my shoulder. He didn't look at me. He kept his dark eyes locked entirely on Robert.
"You sure talk a lot for a man standing on a toxic waste dump," Bear said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble.
Robert’s eyes darted toward the freshly dug hole behind Bear, catching a glimpse of the rusted steel lid and the oozing black sludge. The arrogant smile vanished instantly.
"That—that was already there," Robert stammered, pointing at the barrel. "Previous owners. I'm just trying to clean it up. The surveyor here is documenting it for the sale."
"The previous owner was your father," Slim said, stepping up beside Bear. "He built this house in forty-nine. You think he buried commercial solvents in his own garden? Or do you think maybe a failing construction company looking to save disposal fees dumped it here five years ago?"
Robert’s chest heaved. "You can't prove anything. The deed is being transferred to my LLC tomorrow morning. Once the demolition crew gets here on Saturday, this whole area gets capped in concrete. Now get out!"
"You forced him to sign?" I asked, my voice trembling. "You told me the notary wasn't coming until tomorrow."
"He didn't have to sign," Robert snapped, glaring at me. "I told you. He had a cognitive episode. Complete detachment from reality. The facility doctor signed off on the emergency transfer of authority. It's done. I own this property, and I control his care."
A horrifying realization clicked into place. The documents scattered in the house wasn't just Robert looking for cash. He was looking for the original deed, trying to ensure there were no secondary claims on the property before he filed his fraudulent emergency transfer.
"You drugged him," I whispered, the pieces finally connecting. "Arthur was perfectly lucid this afternoon. You had the facility doctor—someone you probably pay off—declare him incompetent to bypass the notary."
Robert didn't deny it. He just checked his watch. "The sheriff will be here in four minutes. Last chance."
Bear didn't move an inch. "Let 'em come. We'll show them the barrels."
The man in the grey suit finally stepped forward. He leaned in close to Robert and muttered something in his ear. I couldn't hear the words, but I saw Robert’s face change. The anger was replaced by genuine panic. If the sheriff saw the toxic waste, the EPA would be notified within the hour. The site would be frozen, investigated, and Robert’s entire cover-up would collapse.
Robert grabbed the surveyor’s arm and pulled him backward toward the car.
"This isn't over," Robert shouted from the driveway. "You think you won? I have the legal authority. I can move my father anywhere I want. By the time you get a warrant to search this dirt, he'll be in a state facility three counties away, and you'll never see him again."
He slammed the car door, and the sedan reversed violently down the driveway, speeding off down the street.
I stood in the grass, feeling the adrenaline crash out of my system. My legs felt weak. I looked at Bear.
"He's going to move him," I said, panic rising in my chest. "If Arthur is legally declared incompetent, Robert can transfer him to a locked memory care unit. He'll restrict all visitors. He'll take away his phone. Arthur will die in there, completely alone."
"We go get him," Tank said, lifting his shovel.
"We can't just walk in and take him," I said, my voice cracking. "That's kidnapping. Robert has the paperwork. If we take him, we're fugitives, and Arthur goes right back into the system."
"So we beat the paperwork," Bear said. He turned to me. "You said you used to do this for a living. How do we stop a medical proxy transfer?"
"An injunction," I said quickly, forcing my brain to work through the panic. "An emergency injunction filed by a blood relative or a certified state caregiver claiming immediate endangerment. A judge can freeze the transfer for seventy-two hours."
"Are you certified?" Slim asked.
"My license didn't expire," I said, swallowing hard. "I kept it active. I just stopped using it."
"Then you file it," Bear said.