Chapter 166: A Place of Refuge

Justin’s POV

The drive home was quiet.

Too quiet.

I kept both of my hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel, my eyes fixed numbly on the road ahead while the thick, ominous folder from my father’s house sat heavily on the passenger seat between us.

Mason hadn’t said a single word. Neither had I.

The nightmare of a conversation with my father kept replaying on a continuous, brutal loop in my head.

The laundry list of charges. The missing money. The fraudulent shares. The brave staff members who had finally come forward. The deliberate medication adjustments. The cold, calculated recordings.

And most of all, my mother.

I tightened my grip on the wheel until my knuckles turned stark white.

I should have felt some semblance of relief. I had finally gotten the hard answers I was looking for. But instead, I felt completely drained, burdened with even more agonizing questions than when I had left my house this morning.

Mason glanced over at me. I caught the small movement from the corner of my eye, but he didn’t try to force conversation. I appreciated him for that. He knew me better than almost anyone he understood that sometimes I didn’t need someone filling the heavy silence just because it felt uncomfortable.

We drove in quiet solidarity for another few minutes. Then, the weight in my chest became too suffocating, and I let out a long, ragged sigh.

"If you’re not going to talk, let me take a quick detour."

Mason looked over, his sharp eyes evaluating me. "Where?"

"My grandfather’s."

He gave a single, prompt nod. "Okay."

I flipped the turn signal and took the next turn down the familiar oak-lined avenue.

The drive to my grandparents’ house didn’t take long, but the closer we got to their gates, the more that tight, sickening knot in my chest slowly began to loosen. This place just felt completely different. It always had. My grandparents’ home had never been a battleground. It had never been somewhere I needed to put up armor or defend myself.

I pulled into the quiet stone driveway and cut the truck’s engine.

Mason looked over at me. "You want me to come in with you?"

I shook my head softly. "No. I’ll be quick."

"Cool."

I climbed out of the truck, grabbed the folder, and walked up the front brick steps toward the door. I knocked three times.

A few moments later, the heavy wooden door swung open, and my grandfather stood there. His thick silver eyebrows lifted in surprise when his eyes landed on me.

"Justin?"

"Hey, Grandpa."

He peered past my shoulder toward the driveway, his expression shifting to mild concern. "What’s happening, son?"

"Nothing bad," I reassured him quickly, holding up the file slightly. "I just came to stop by. I got something from my father’s house, but... I needed to ask you a few questions."

His posture immediately straightened, his grandfatherly warmth giving way to a solemn seriousness. "Come inside."

I gently shook my head. "No, no. Let’s just stand out here for a minute."

He studied the exhaustion carved into my face before giving a understanding nod. "Okay."

I took a steadying breath, leaning against the porch railing. "Did you and Grandma pay private investigators to look into Mom’s death?"

A shadow crossed his eyes, but his voice was steady. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because we wanted to know the absolute truth, Justin." He leaned his back slightly against the solid doorframe, his gaze fiercely protective. "We knew the trial was coming, and we wanted to make sure we had every single piece of ammunition we could get. Every piece of evidence. Every secret they tried to bury."

I nodded slowly, feeling a cold wave of clarity wash over me. That was exactly what I needed to hear.

"Can I get copies of whatever your investigators have found so far?"

"Of course you can." My grandfather immediately turned back toward the dark hallway. "Wait right here. Let me go into my office and print out everything I have stored on the server."

"Thank you, Grandpa."

He disappeared inside. I remained standing on the quiet porch, breathing in the smell of fresh green grass and blooming hydrangeas. Mason was still waiting patiently in the passenger seat of the truck. I glanced over toward him, and he gave me a reassuring nod through the glass.

Fifteen heavy minutes passed before I heard the soft shuffle of slippers, and I saw my grandfather slowly making his way back toward the front doorway. He was carrying a thick, towering stack of printed papers in his hands.

I immediately stepped forward, reaching out. "Grandpa, are you okay?"

He waved his free hand off with a scoff. "I’m fine, boy. I’m old, not helpless."

A genuine, breathy laugh escaped my lips the first one all day.

He placed the thick stack into my hands. "Here. These are the complete copies."

I looked down at the overwhelming pile of evidence, feeling its heavy weight in my arms. "Thank you."

He searched my eyes carefully, his voice dropping into something softer. "I thought you weren’t coming to the trial, Justin."

"I wasn’t sure before," I admitted quietly, looking down at the papers again. "I’m trying to make some findings of my own first. I want to be completely sure about everything before I walk into that courtroom."

He nodded in solemn approval. "That makes sense. A man should know what he’s facing."

I tucked the documents carefully beneath my arm, hugging them tight against my chest. "Thank you, Grandpa. For everything."

"You don’t ever have to thank me." He reached out, his weathered, calloused hand gripping my shoulder with a firm, grounding pressure. "Whatever questions you have, no matter how small, you can always come to us. You know that."

"I know," I murmured.

Then, without overthinking it, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug.

His arms immediately wrapped around my back, holding me steady.

For a long moment, I just stood there on the porch, letting myself rest in his strength. It was strange how effortless it was. How completely natural it felt. How night-and-day different it was from the visceral instinct that had made me pull away when my father had tried to hug me earlier.

With Grandpa, there was no baggage. No lingering resentment. I didn’t have to pause and ask myself if I was ready. I just was.

"Thanks, Grandpa," I whispered into his shoulder.

"Anytime, son," he murmured back, clapping my back softly.

I slowly pulled away. "I’ll call you later tonight."

"You do that."

I turned and walked back down the steps toward the truck. Mason lowered his window as I approached.

"You good?" he asked softly.

I pulled open the driver’s door and climbed inside, setting the massive stack of papers right beside my father’s folder. "Yeah."

I looked at the mountain of evidence between us. "I think I’ve gotten everything I need."

Mason gave a firm nod. "Then let’s get you back home."

I started up the engine and backed out of the driveway. This time, as we drove through the quiet streets, the silence inside the cab didn’t feel nearly as heavy or suffocating.

When we finally pulled up in front of Mason’s place across the street from mine, I brought the truck to a stop. Mason unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for the door handle.

"Thanks for coming with me today, man," I said, looking over at him.

He paused, glancing back at me with a rare, quiet seriousness. "Anytime, Justin. Seriously."

I gave him a grateful nod. "I mean it. I appreciate it."

"You don’t have to thank me for having your back." He opened the door, swinging his legs out. "Go get some rest."

"I will."

Mason climbed out and shut the door behind him. I watched him walk up his front steps and disappear inside before I shifted back into drive.

I pulled into my underground garage, cut the engine, and parked the truck in the dark space.

For a long while, I just remained sitting in the driver’s seat, staring blindly at the steering wheel.

The initial investigation. The new documents. The trial next week. My mother’s memory. My father’s broken eyes.

There was so much to process. Too much to carry alone.

But I wasn’t going to let it destroy me right now. Not today.

I gathered all the files and papers I had collected into my arms, pushed open the heavy car door, and stepped out into the quiet garage. Then I turned toward the elevator and headed upstairs to Harper.