PART 2 — THE MONEY HE THOUGHT BELONGED TO HIM
“Are you certain?”
“Absolutely.”
Beside the signature was a notary stamp reading Megan Cole.
Brandon’s executive assistant.
The paper was dated September twelfth.
I remembered that afternoon vividly because Hazel had been sick with an ear infection, and I’d spent most of the day at the pediatrician’s office.
“I wasn’t even at the company that day,” I said. “I was with Hazel.”
Lauren wrote a note.
“We’ll get the original records and ask the financial institution to investigate. If your signature was forged, that’s a serious matter.”
I examined the page again.
The handwriting came close enough to mine that someone who didn’t know me might have been fooled.
But the capital P was wrong.
My mother had taught me to write that letter with a long downward stroke, and I’d written it that way since elementary school.
Whoever had signed this form didn’t know that.
I handed the document back to Lauren.
“I want to protect my daughter and whatever is legally mine. I don’t want to hurt innocent people who work for Brandon.”
“Then we’ll proceed carefully,” she said. “We can protect your interests without making reckless decisions about the company.”
I left the office with copies of the records and a plan.
For the first time in months, I wasn’t waiting for Brandon to decide what would happen next.
When I arrived home, Brenda’s white SUV was parked in our driveway.
She was sitting at the kitchen table with Brandon’s older brother, Wayne.
Brenda had always favored Brandon. Wayne worked as a construction supervisor and rarely appeared at the family dinners where his mother raved about Brandon’s business success.
The moment I walked in, she looked over my shopping bags.
“Still spending money, I see.”
“I’m putting groceries away, Brenda.”
“Don’t take that tone with me. Brandon told me you’re upset about the new budget.”
I set the bags on the counter.
“I am upset that he locked the cards while I was buying food for Hazel.”
She waved a hand at me.
“Oh, please. You’re acting like he abandoned you. He wants you to stop wasting money.”
“You called me a freeloader while I was standing in a grocery store with his daughter.”
Brenda offered no apology.
“Sometimes people need to hear the truth.”
Wayne looked up.
“Mom, that’s enough. Paige takes care of Hazel all day. You know that.”
Brenda turned on him.
“Stay out of it, Wayne. Your brother is the one keeping this family business alive.”
Wayne’s expression changed, but he said nothing.
After Brenda left, he lingered by the back door.
“Paige, can I talk to you for a minute?”
I nodded.
He pulled a manila envelope from inside his jacket.
“Dad gave me this before he passed away. I should’ve brought it to somebody years ago.”
Inside were handwritten notes and copies of invoices.
Wayne said their father had suspected Brandon of moving company money into personal accounts and charging private expenses to business projects.
“I thought Dad was being overly suspicious,” Wayne admitted. “But things have gotten worse. Suppliers are calling me about overdue bills, and Brandon keeps telling everyone the next big contract will fix it.”
I flipped through the papers.
Several payments looked as if they’d been billed twice.
Others went to companies I’d never heard of.
“Why are you giving this to me?”
Wayne glanced toward the driveway.
“Because I heard what happened at the grocery store. And because I don’t want forty families losing their jobs while Brandon pretends everything’s fine.”
I closed the envelope.
“Have you spoken to a lawyer?”
“Not yet.”
“You should. And don’t take any more records you’re not authorized to have.”
He nodded.
“I just want somebody to look at what’s happening.”
After he left, I called Lauren.
She told me to keep the envelope exactly as it was, without altering anything, and to arrange a meeting for Wayne with independent counsel.
That night, Brandon went to bed without asking where I’d been.
At 2:15 a.m., a security alert lit up my phone.
Someone had tried to access my newly activated trust account using credentials that weren’t authorized.
The attempt had been blocked.
I forwarded the alert to Russell and Lauren.
Then I looked over at Brandon, asleep beside me.
For the first time, I wondered whether he knew far more about my father’s money than he had ever admitted.
By the next afternoon, Lauren had set up a meeting with Russell and the trust’s commercial lending attorney.
They told me the unauthorized login attempt was under investigation. The records showed where it had originated, but not enough to identify who was behind it.
I was relieved they weren’t jumping to conclusions.
I needed facts, not suspicions.
Lauren had also contacted the institution that processed my mother’s bond transfer. The transaction was under review, and the bank had agreed to preserve the original authorization records.
“What happens now?” I asked.
“We secure your accounts, document the disputed transaction, and prepare for whatever Brandon decides to do next,” Lauren said.
She watched me closely.
“Have you thought about separating?”
I looked down at my wedding ring.
For six years I’d believed Brandon and I were partners. We’d chosen our house together, decorated Hazel’s nursery, and talked about having another child someday.
I didn’t want those memories to become meaningless.
But I couldn’t ignore what had happened.
“Yes,” I answered. “I have.”
Lauren gave me the name of a family-law attorney.
She also cautioned me not to discuss the trust’s business investments with Brandon until I understood the consequences.
“The trust’s loan is separate from your marriage,” she explained. “Any enforcement decision must follow the loan documents and the trustee’s duties. It isn’t something you should use as a bargaining chip in a divorce.”
I was grateful for that.
I had no desire to become the kind of person who frightened someone into obedience with money.
I’d already seen what that looked like.
Two days later, Brandon walked in with his mother.
I was feeding Hazel her dinner when they came into the kitchen.
Brenda sat down uninvited.
Brandon placed a folder beside my plate.
“I’ve been talking to an attorney,” he said.
I wiped Hazel’s chin.
“About what?”
“Our marriage. I don’t think this arrangement is working anymore.”
Brenda folded her arms.
“Frankly, Paige, you’ve made this house miserable.”
I opened the folder.
Inside was a proposed separation agreement.
Brandon wanted exclusive use of the house, primary custody of Hazel, and terms that would make me responsible for many of my own expenses.
The proposal described me as financially dependent and incapable of handling money responsibly.
I read that sentence twice.
“You think I can’t take care of our daughter?”
Brandon shrugged.
“I think Hazel needs stability. I have a business. I have income. You don’t.”
“I stopped working because we agreed I’d stay home with her.”
“You could’ve gone back months ago.”
Brenda leaned in.
“My son has given you a beautiful home. You ought to be grateful he’s offering you anything.”
I shut the folder.
“I’m not signing this.”
Brandon’s face stiffened.
“Then we’ll let a judge decide.”
“That’s fine. I’ll have my attorney review it.”
He gave a short laugh.
“With what money?”
I met his eyes.
“Money that’s legally mine.”
For the first time that evening, Brenda went quiet.
Brandon stared at me.
“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
