Chapter 6 - Six O’Clock Was Only the BeginningThey did not run.
That alone told me something was wrong.
Lauren went everywhere with him when money was involved.
She attended bank meetings.
Company dinners.
Investor parties.
She called herself Brent’s “strategic partner,” even though her official position in his development company seemed to consist mostly of posting photographs from expensive restaurants.
When he arrived alone, his shoulders were bent and his eyes looked exhausted.
I let him in.
The kids were at their father’s apartment for the weekend, which made the timing easier.
Brent stood in my kitchen and stared at the same table where we had eaten cereal as teenagers.
“Can I have coffee?”
“Sure.”
He sat while I poured it.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Finally he said, “I didn’t know about the forged signature.”
“I believe you.”
His head lifted.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“You’re a terrible liar when you’re surprised.”
Despite everything, he laughed once.
Then the laugh disappeared.
“I knew about Northgate.”
“I figured.”
“And the loan.”
“I figured that too.”
He rubbed his eyes.
“But I thought Dad had authority.”
“You never checked?”
“He’s Dad.”
“That isn’t a legal title.”
“I know that now.”
I sat across from him.
“How much trouble are you in?”
He stared into the coffee.
“A lot.”
“How much is a lot?”
“My company owes about 1.9 million across three projects.”
I tried not to react.
He continued.
“Most of it is normal financing. But approximately six hundred thousand is personally guaranteed.”
“By you?”
“Me and Dad.”
“Lauren?”
“No.”
Of course not.
“What happened?”
“Our Riverstone development got delayed.”
I knew the project.
Thirty luxury townhomes outside Milwaukee.
Brent had bragged at Thanksgiving that twenty were already sold.
“The environmental permit?”
He blinked.
“You know?”
“I read newspapers.”
“Yeah. That.”
He exhaled.
“We tied up too much cash. Then labor costs went up. Dad offered to bridge the gap.”
“With Granddad’s property.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You knew about Hawthorne.”
He looked ashamed.
“I thought Mom owned it.”
“What about Lake Weller?”
Silence.
“Brent.”
“I knew she wanted to sell it.”
“My children own it.”
“I didn’t know that part.”
“Would it have mattered?”
He looked at me.
That question hurt him.
Good.
He deserved at least that.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “It would have mattered.”
I wanted to believe him.
Maybe part of me did.
He rubbed his thumb across the coffee mug.
“You always think Mom loves me more.”
I almost laughed.
“She does.”
“No.”
“Brent.”
“She uses me more.”
I stopped.
He looked up.
“For forty years, I thought being the favorite meant I won.”
His voice was flat.
“You know what it actually means?”
I said nothing.
“It means every decision I make has her standing behind it.”
He gave a bitter smile.
“When I chose business school, it was because she told everyone I’d run Granddad’s company someday.”
“Granddad sold the company.”
“I know. I was seventeen. I cried when he told me.”
I remembered.
I thought Brent loved that company.
Maybe he loved what Mom told him it represented.
“When I married Lauren,” he continued, “Mom loved her because she came from money.”
“Lauren’s parents own two dental offices.”
“Exactly. But Mom told everybody they were practically royalty.”
I laughed despite myself.
He did too.
Then his expression hardened.
“When Riverstone went bad, I wanted to sell two projects and take the loss. Mom told me Delaney men don’t retreat.”
“You’re a Harris.”
“Our last name is Harris because of Dad. You know what she meant.”
Yes.
Granddad’s legacy.
The same weapon every time.
“She said she could get family capital.”
“Mine.”
“Granddad’s.”
“Held for specific purposes.”
“I know.”
“No. I need you to understand that. This isn’t a pile of free money.”
He nodded.
“I understand.”
“Some of those assets belong beneficially to the grandchildren.”
“Including mine?”
“Yes.”
He looked stunned.
“All five?”
“Yes.”
Mom never told him.
That realization moved across his face.
“She said your kids got everything.”
“No.”
“She said Granddad’s final trust cut out any future grandchildren.”
“That’s not true.”
Brent leaned back.
“Jesus.”
“The lake property is specifically Emma and Noah’s because they were alive when that parcel was assigned. But the reserve funds are for all descendants.”
“My kids too.”
“Yes.”
He stared toward the dark window.
For the first time, I saw the real damage Mom’s favoritism had caused.
She had convinced Brent that my children’s security was stolen from his.
Then she used that resentment to justify taking from them.
“How much?” he asked.
“Approximately 4.2 million in the reserve account.”
His jaw dropped.
I raised a hand.
“That does not mean anybody gets a check for 4.2 million.”
“I know.”
“It’s for education, medical emergencies, certain housing assistance, and long-term support.”
Brent nodded slowly.
“Mom told me there was maybe five hundred thousand.”
“Of course she did.”
He sat quietly.
Then said, “There’s something else.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Lauren knows more than she’s admitting.”
I leaned forward.
“About what?”
“The forged documents.”
That surprised me.
“How?”
“She helped Mom organize paperwork last year.”
“What paperwork?”
“She said it was estate planning.”
“You believed her?”
“At the time.”
“And now?”
He reached inside his coat and removed a USB drive.
“Now I don’t.”
I stared at it.
“What is that?”
“Backup from my office server.”
“Why do you have it?”
“Because Northgate called again this afternoon.”
He placed the drive on the table.
“They sent me copies of documents Mom gave them.”
“Did Lauren send them?”
“That’s what I wanted to know.”
“And?”
“I checked our email archive.”
He swallowed.
“Lauren sent them from her company account.”
My pulse quickened.
“What exactly?”
“A trustee certificate.”
“Signed by who?”
“You.”
I stared at him.
“Forged?”
He nodded.
“And a beneficiary consent.”
“Also forged?”
“Yes.”
“How many signatures?”
He looked sick.
“Yours.”
“Anyone else?”
“Emma’s.”
I stood so fast my chair nearly toppled.
“My twelve-year-old daughter?”
“The document says she’s eighteen.”
For a moment, the kitchen seemed to tilt.
“They forged my child’s signature?”
“I think Lauren did.”
My hands curled into fists.
Brent stood.
“I swear I didn’t know.”
“When did you find this?”
“An hour ago.”
“Where is Lauren?”
“At home.”
“Does she know you know?”
“No.”
I reached for my phone.
Brent stopped me.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling Maya.”
“Good.”
His relief surprised me.
“You’re not protecting her?”
He laughed without humor.
“She forged a child’s signature.”
“She’s your wife.”
“And Emma is my niece.”
For the first time in years, my brother sounded like my brother.
I called Maya.
She told us not to confront Lauren.
Save everything.
Make copies.
Do not alter the server.
A forensic team would preserve the records.
When I hung up, Brent looked like he might throw up.
“What happens to Lauren?”
“I don’t know.”
“Could she go to jail?”
“I don’t know.”
He nodded.
“I should go.”
I walked him to the door.
Before leaving, he turned.
“Rachel?”
“Yes?”
“Last night.”
I waited.
“When Tyler said your kids weren’t good enough…”
His voice cracked slightly.
“I should have stopped him.”
“Yes.”
“I laughed because Mom was looking at me.”
That explanation made me sadder than the cruelty itself.
“You’re forty years old, Brent.”
“I know.”
“She’s not responsible for what you do anymore.”
“I know that too.”
“Then act like it.”
He nodded.
Outside, he walked toward his SUV.
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Lauren.
He answered.
Even from the porch, I heard her shouting.
Brent’s face changed.
“What do you mean they’re gone?”
A pause.
“What files?”
He looked at me.
Every trace of color disappeared from his face.
“Lauren, don’t touch anything.”
Another pause.
“Where’s Mom?”
He listened.
Then whispered, “Oh, God.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” I asked.
He stared at me.
“Mom went to my office.”
“When?”
“About an hour ago.”
“Why?”
“She told Lauren she needed to clean up some old records before the accountants came.”
My heart pounded.
“What records?”
Brent looked toward the USB drive in my hand.
“The server.”
I was already calling Maya.
But before she answered, my phone beeped with an incoming security notification.
It came from Hawthorne House.
Motion detected at the rear property gate.
I opened the camera app.
A black SUV was leaving.
Mom’s Mercedes.
Behind it was Dad’s pickup.
Both vehicles were loaded with boxes.
They were not cleaning records.
May you like
They were moving them.
And for the first time since this began, I realized my parents might be preparing to run.
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