Chapter 5: What Brothers Do
Brandon pulled a chair to the side of the bed without being invited.
"Mom called me," he said.
"She's upset.
I think there's been some kind of misunderstanding and I want to help sort it out."
"Sit down, Brandon," Connor said.
"I am sitting—"
"Then stay sitting.
And listen."
Brandon glanced at Samantha.
She was standing near the window with her phone in her hand, watching him.
He looked back at Connor and adjusted his expression — concern replacing the easy smile, the performance shifting to match the room.
"I know you're upset," Brandon said.
"Surgery is scary.
And I know it looked bad last night, us leaving, but Alison really wasn't—"
"I want to talk about the account you opened in my name."
The adjustment was small.
A tightening around the eyes.
A half-second before the next breath.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"A second account.
In my name.
47,000 dollars moved through it over three years.
Transactions I never authorized."
"Connor, whoever told you that is—"
"I have the documentation."
Brandon's mouth closed.
He looked at the folder on the bed.
Then at Samantha.
Then back at Connor.
"That was a business arrangement," he said carefully.
"I needed a secondary account for import transactions.
It was temporary.
I was going to close it."
"You used my name without my knowledge."
"I used your name because the bank required a co-signer and you were traveling and I needed to move quickly.
I was going to explain it when—"
"When?" Connor asked.
"When were you going to explain it?"
Brandon spread his hands.
"Look, I know how this looks.
But everything I did, I did for the family.
The import business was going to pay off for all of us.
It just needed more time.
Mom believed in it.
She supported it because she understood the bigger picture."
"With my money."
"With money that was being held for the family.
That's how Mom always framed it."
"And you were comfortable with that framing."
"I was trying to build something." His voice rose slightly.
"You've had a steady salary for seven years, Connor.
A good job, benefits, security.
Some of us had to take risks.
Some of us had to fight for every opportunity.
Mom helped me because she understood that."
Samantha spoke from the window.
Her voice was quiet and even.
"The import business failed two years ago."
Brandon looked at her.
"I have the incorporation records," she said.
"The business was dissolved in March two years ago.
But the withdrawals from Connor's account continued for fourteen months after that." She held up her phone.
"Daniel sent me the comparison this morning.
Would you like to see it?"
Brandon said nothing.
"What was the money for after the business closed?" Connor asked.
"There were debts.
Obligations.
It's complicated."
"Try."
"I needed time to restructure—"
"Brandon." Connor's voice dropped.
"Is there anything left?
Of the 330,000 dollars.
Is there anything left at all?"
Brandon looked at the floor.
His hands rested on his knees.
The easy manner was gone entirely now, replaced by something smaller and less comfortable.
"Some," he said.
"How much."
A long pause.
"Maybe eleven thousand."
The number landed in the room like something dropped from a height.
Samantha turned back to the window.
Connor looked at his brother — this man he had grown up with, shared a bedroom with, defended in arguments he couldn't remember the details of anymore — and felt the last of something close between them.
"Get out," he said.
"Connor—"
"Get out of this room.
And tell Mom not to touch what's left.
Not one dollar.
Because I'm calling a lawyer this afternoon, and if anything moves before I do, I will make sure the account in my name becomes a police matter."
Brandon stood.
His chair scraped back.
"You're making a mistake," he said.
"Family doesn't do this to each other."
"No," Connor said.
"It doesn't."
Brandon left.
The door didn't slam.
May you like
That was almost worse — the quiet, careful click of a man who still thought he might need something from you later.
Samantha was already dialing.
