Chapter 1 - Behind the iron gate
My name is Frank Dawson.
I was seventy years old when I found my granddaughter locked behind a garden gate in her own backyard.
Olivia was three.
Too young to understand:
Custody.
Trusts.
Court petitions.
Fiduciary disputes.
She understood one thing.
She wanted me.
“Grandpa!”
Her fingers curled around the black iron bars.
Mara stood several feet behind her.
Perfect blonde hair.
Cream blouse.
Calm expression.
The sort of calm that becomes frightening when a child beside you is sobbing.
I looked at the lock.
Then at Mara.
“Open it.”
Daniel stepped between us.
My son-in-law.
Olivia’s father.
“Dad, calm down.”
I hated that he still called me Dad.
My daughter Rachel had been gone eighteen months.
Daniel had remarried eleven months after her death.
Mara had moved into Rachel’s house four months later.
And now Rachel’s daughter was standing barefoot? No.
She had shoes.
At least she had shoes.
Small white shoes.
Tears.
Cold fingers.
I repeated:
“Open the gate.”
Daniel said:
“You don’t understand what’s happening.”
Olivia cried harder.
May you like
I walked toward her.
Daniel blocked me.
