“Herc? What’s happening?”
“Huh…I don’t know….”
The big lug has finally stopped berating me for not paying attention, and we both watch as men and women in dark, plain suits exit the cars. A group of three men leaves the van, and their build and demeanor are unmistakable to me: those are furniture movers.
Furniture movers?
Did Dad hire movers and a whole entourage of escorts to take our things to college? If so, that’s incredibly excessive. And it is potentially embarrassing on campus since we’ve decided to live in dorms our first year instead of apartments.
My hand goes to my sternum as if I might comfort my heart into slowing its rapidly increasing pulse. Because somewhere deep down, I know these people are not here for us.
One of the men in suits knocks loudly on the front door. Dad takes a long time to answer, and when he does, the man shows him a piece of paper. And looks as if he’s flashing an ID.
“Herc,” I squeak out without turning to him.
He blithely says, “Wonder what’s going on.”
Panic rises in my chest. “I don’t like this. I’m going to talk to Dad,” I say, taking a step forward until Herc puts a hand on my shoulder.
“No. Don’t,” Herc insists.
“Dad might be in some kind of trouble; we should go check on him.”
Herc mutters, “If our father is in trouble with the feds, then that means we’re all in trouble, Cassandra. Stay still. They haven’t noticed us yet.”
“How do you know those are federal agents?”
Herc doesn’t answer.
“Herc?”
“Shut it,” he hisses.
Minutes pass. Dark-suited people bustle in and out of the house and the attached garages, leaving all doors wide open. My stomach clenches, remembering how Mom would scold us for letting flies into the home.
I pull my gaze from the house to check on my brother, who looks worried and hasn’t let go of my shoulder.
His eyes widen slightly, and I turn to see what he’s seeing. A back door opens and out comes Dad, accompanied on each side by one of the strange men. Feds, according to Herc.
“Ah shit,” Herc breathes.
And then I see it. My dad—Dex Treadway, two-time NCAA basketball champion and our hero—is leaving our home in handcuffs.
“Herc. What the fudge?” I say, my voice rising as my throat closes up. I hate that I sound like Minnie Mouse when I’m upset.
“Cassandra, hush! They’ll hear you!”
“We need to talk to Daddy!”
“No. We need to chill and call Dad’s lawyer,” he says, already dialing up Arthur Gamble in Black Mountain.
Arthur answers immediately. I can hear him even without Herc putting him on speaker. “Hey, sport. I’m already on it.”
I hear voices up the hill and look back toward the line of cars. Just before the men briskly encase Dad into the back of a black SUV, I think I see something. Our dad looks over his shoulder in our direction. I get the briefest glimpse of his face, and it takes everything in me not to run to him. Where are they taking you? I want to scream. I’ll come get you, straighten all of this out, get ice cream, and then laugh about the whole thing.
Herc is eerily calm, and I don’t like it. I’m sweating everywhere, and not just from the humidity.
I try to grab the phone from Herc, but he’s stronger than me despite being my twin and an equal match in sports. Dammit. Not fair.