Chapter 8: What Brandon Finally Said Out Loud
The folder contained eleven pages.
Brandon had printed them himself, he said, from a personal email account he had created two years ago specifically to keep records.
He slid it across the table without explanation and waited while Patricia and I read.
The first page was an email from Ray Cutler dated three years ago.
It referenced an incident from their college years — something involving a car accident, a police report that had been altered, and a settlement paid to a family Brandon had never told me about.
Ray had been holding it over Brandon ever since.
"He came to me eighteen months ago," Brandon said.
"He said he had a business opportunity.
That we could use the house equity to fund a renovation, sell the house at a profit in two years, and split the difference.
He made it sound like a real plan." He paused.
"When I said I needed to talk to you first, he reminded me about the accident.
He said if I didn't cooperate, he'd go to the family that was paid off and tell them the settlement had been fraudulent."
"Was it?" Patricia asked.
Brandon was quiet for a moment.
"The accident was real.
The other driver was at fault.
But Ray had a friend in the insurance company who inflated the payout.
I didn't know that until after the settlement was done.
By the time I understood what had happened, my name was already on documents I shouldn't have signed."
"So he had leverage," Patricia said.
"Yes."
"That still doesn't explain the forged signature," I said.
"Or the fake company.
Or the fact that your mother told Skylar she wasn't allowed to eat at the same table as the rest of the family."
Brandon flinched at that last part.
"The signature — I didn't forge it.
Ray said he had someone who could handle the notarization.
I told myself it wasn't my problem." His voice dropped.
"I know how that sounds."
"It sounds like you let it happen," I said.
"Yes." He didn't look away.
"I let it happen.
I told myself I was protecting you from something worse.
But I was protecting myself.
And I let my mother—" He stopped.
Pressed his lips together.
"I let my mother treat you and Skylar like you weren't part of this family.
And I said nothing.
Because it was easier than fighting her."
The room was very quiet.
"Brandon," Patricia said, "are you willing to provide a full written statement to federal investigators?
Everything about Ray, the accident, the loan arrangement, the referral fees — all of it?"
"Yes."
"And you understand that cooperating does not guarantee immunity.
Depending on what investigators find, you may still face charges related to your role in the loan origination."
"I understand."
Patricia made a note.
"I'll arrange the meeting."
Brandon stood.
He picked up his jacket from the back of the chair.
Then he stopped.
"Charlotte." He was looking at the table, not at me.
"Is Skylar okay?"
"She's fine."
"Is she—" He stopped again.
Started over.
"Does she know what's happening?"
"She knows we're staying somewhere else for a while.
She thinks it's an adventure."
Something crossed his face.
Not relief.
Something closer to grief.
"She drew a picture," I said.
"Of our house.
With both of us in the yard."
Brandon nodded once.
He didn't say anything else.
He walked out of Patricia's office and the door closed quietly behind him.
Patricia waited a moment.
Then: "How are you doing?"
"I'm fine," I said.
She looked at me steadily.
"Charlotte."
I let out a slow breath.
"I'm not fine.
But I will be."
May you like
"Yes," she said.
"You will."
