PART 6

I stared at her.

“But her name is on the document.”

“That doesn’t automatically prove she signed it.”

I looked at Megan.

For the first time since my father arrived, I felt something other than anger.

I felt clarity.

I had spent years trying to understand why my parents kept choosing Brooke.

Now I realized I had been asking the wrong question.

The question wasn’t:

Why did they choose her?

It was:

What had Brooke been telling them?

And how much of it had they believed?

The investigation began the following morning.

I gave them everything.

Bank statements.

Emails.

Company records.

Old messages.

The photograph Brooke had sent.

The suspicious transfers.

Every document I could find.

I didn’t hide anything.

Not even the embarrassing parts.

Especially not those.

Because for once, I wanted the truth more than I wanted peace.

Three days later, Evelyn called.

“Miranda?”

“Yes?”

“We found the first unauthorized transaction.”

“When?”

“Seven months after you registered your company.”

My heart sank.

“How much?”

“Eight thousand dollars.”

“Where did it go?”

“To a personal account.”

“Whose?”

She paused.

“Brooke’s.”

I closed my eyes.

“How many transactions?”

“Twenty-one that we can currently identify.”

“How much?”

“Sixty-three thousand, four hundred and eighty dollars.”

Exactly what the investigator had estimated.

“And the incorporation document?”

“We traced it.”

“To whom?”

“The filing was submitted electronically.”

“By who?”

“Your mother.”

My stomach dropped.

“So she did it.”

“Not necessarily.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your mother’s credentials were used.”

I went silent.

“Her account was accessed from a device registered to Brooke.”

I stared at the wall.

Everything clicked.

Brooke hadn’t simply lied.

She had used my mother’s identity too.

But there was more.

Evelyn continued.

“We also found something else.”

“What?”

“Your mother signed several loan applications.”

My heart tightened.

“Did she know?”

“We don’t know yet.”

I couldn’t sleep that night.

At two in the morning, I went downstairs and sat in the dark living room.

The Christmas tree was still lit.

The house was silent.

For the first time since moving in, I didn’t feel proud of it.

I felt tired.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

I thought about being sixteen.

Twenty-one.

Twenty-eight.

Every milestone.

Every empty chair.

Every time I told myself it didn’t matter.

Every time I said, All good.

Maybe it hadn’t been all good.

Maybe I had simply become very good at pretending.

At 3:14 a.m., I heard footsteps outside.

I froze.

Then the doorbell rang.

I looked at the security camera.

It was my mother.

Alone.

I opened the door.

She stood there wearing a winter coat over pajamas.

Her face was swollen from crying.

“Can I come in?”

I stepped aside.

She entered.

For a while, she didn’t speak.

Then she looked at the Christmas tree.

“I should have been here.”

I said nothing.

She looked at me.

“I should have seen this house.”

Still nothing.

“I should have seen you.”

My throat tightened.

“Why didn’t you?”

She sat down.

“I thought I knew you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I know.”

“No, Mom.”

I sat across from her.

“You knew the version of me that was convenient.”

She started crying.

I continued.

“You knew Brooke’s version of me.”

She nodded.

“She told us things.”

“What things?”

“That you were angry with us.”

“I was.”

“That you thought you were better than us.”

“I never said that.”

“She said you didn’t need us.”

I looked at her.

“I needed you.”

Her face collapsed.

“I know.”

“No.”

I shook my head.

“You don’t get to say that now.”

She wiped her eyes.

“I know.”

For several minutes, the only sound was the fireplace.

Then she reached into her coat pocket.

She pulled out an old envelope.

“I found this in Brooke’s apartment.”

She handed it to me.

Inside were copies of letters.

Old letters.

Letters I had written to my parents over the years.

Some were handwritten.

Some were printed emails.

All of them had one thing in common.

I had never received responses.

My mother watched me read them.

“I didn’t know these existed.”

I looked up.

“Why were they in Brooke’s apartment?”

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART…