Chapter 3: What the Call Was About
Brandon stood with Selina's phone pressed against his chest, his back to both of us.
"Brandon." My voice was very quiet.
"Who is that?"
He didn't turn around.
"No one you need to worry about."
"You just grabbed her phone and told her not to answer it.
That's not nothing."
Selina sat down on the edge of the bed.
For the first time since I had walked into this room, she wasn't smiling.
She was watching Brandon with an expression I couldn't quite read — not fear exactly, but something close to it.
"Tell her," Selina said.
Brandon turned fast.
"Don't."
"Tell her, or I will."
The two of them stared at each other across the room.
Whatever understanding they had built together over two years, some part of it was cracking open right in front of me.
I looked at Selina.
"Who is Raymond Holt?"
She blinked.
"How do you know that name?"
"I don't.
It was on your screen for three seconds before Brandon grabbed the phone.
I'm a CPA.
I read fast."
Brandon set the phone face-down on the dresser.
He pressed both hands flat against the surface and didn't move.
"Raymond Holt is a private creditor," he said finally.
"He holds a note against Sterling Logistics.
A large one."
"How large?"
Silence.
"Brandon.
How large?"
"Four point two million dollars." He still didn't turn around.
"Due in full in eleven days."
The number landed in the room like something physical.
I sat down slowly in the chair by the window.
"And the plan," I said, "was to get me to sign the final property transfers before the note came due.
So that when Holt called in the debt, the assets would already be back in the family's name and I would have no claim."
Brandon said nothing.
That was answer enough.
"But the transfers didn't happen," I said.
"Because I didn't sign them.
Because you decided tonight was the right night to humiliate me in front of two hundred people instead of handling your creditor problem quietly." I looked at him.
"That was a significant miscalculation."
Selina stood up.
"We can still fix this.
Jessi, listen to me—"
"You need to stop talking to me like we're friends."
"We can offer you a settlement.
Cash.
Enough to start over somewhere comfortable.
You sign the transfers, you take the money, everyone walks away."
I looked at her for a long moment.
"You're offering me a buyout.
Tonight.
In my own bedroom.
While you're wearing my bathrobe."
She had the decency to look down.
"Get dressed," I said.
"Both of you.
And get out of my house.
You have until I finish making a phone call."
I walked back downstairs to the kitchen.
My hands were steady.
I was mildly surprised by that.
I called Alexander Vance.
He picked up on the second ring.
"Mrs.
Sterling.
I was expecting to hear from you."
"Raymond Holt," I said.
"What do you know about him?"
A pause.
"Enough.
He's been trying to reach me for six weeks.
He wants to know whether the Sterling assets are genuinely titled in your name or whether it's a paper arrangement."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him I'd need to verify the documentation before I could say anything useful." Another pause.
"I've now verified it."
"And?"
"And the assets are genuinely yours, Mrs.
Sterling.
Every one of them.
The transfers Brandon attempted to file three months ago were rejected by the County Recorder's office because the notarization was defective.
He doesn't know that yet."
I set my hand flat on the kitchen counter.
"He filed transfer documents without my knowledge?"
"Attempted to.
They didn't go through.
But the attempt itself is on record." Alexander's voice was careful and even.
"That record is going to be very interesting to certain people."
Upstairs, I heard a door close.
Then footsteps on the stairs.
Then the front door.
They were gone.
I stood alone in my kitchen at two in the morning, holding my phone, looking at the folder Alexander had given me still sitting open on the table.
My phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number.
*Mrs.
Sterling.
My name is Raymond Holt.
I think we should meet.
I have information about your husband that you don't have yet.
Information that changes your position considerably.
I can be in Scottsdale by tomorrow afternoon.*
I read it twice.
May you like
Then I set the phone down on top of the folder.
Whatever Brandon had been hiding from Raymond Holt, it was apparently worse than four point two million dollars.
