Chapter 12 - MY SISTER'S CONFESSION“I KNEW IT WAS WRONG, BROOKE. I JUST DIDN'T THINK DAD WOULD EVER GET CAUGHT.”
Gwen sat across from me in Vanessa's conference room.
It was the first time I'd seen my sister in person since Poppy's accident.
She looked different.
Her blonde hair was pulled into a plain ponytail.
She wore jeans and a simple sweater instead of an expensive designer outfit.
There was no champagne glass.
No glamorous audience.
No one waiting to applaud her.
For the first time in years, Gwen looked uncertain.
Vanessa sat beside me.
Gwen had brought her own attorney, a woman named Melissa Grant.
We had agreed that the meeting would focus on the financial documents and that any potential admissions needed to be handled appropriately.
I wasn't there to attack my sister.
I wanted answers.
Gwen stared at her hands.
“Dad told me you had already agreed to help with the research center.”
I said nothing.
“He said you didn't want your name associated with it publicly because of your company's competitors.”
I looked at her.
“Did that make sense to you?”
“At first.”
“And later?”
She swallowed.
“Later, I started asking questions.”
“What kind?”
“Why we needed to use your old investor documents. Why the applications kept changing. Why Mom had to make phone calls pretending to be you.”
My stomach tightened.
“You knew Mom impersonated me?”
Gwen lowered her eyes.
“Yes.”
Silence filled the room.
Vanessa carefully asked Gwen to continue.
Gwen explained that my father had presented the research center as a legitimate family business.
He claimed it would use Gwen's academic credentials and my technology experience to attract investment.
He said the project could create jobs.
He promised Gwen an executive role.
And he repeatedly assured her that I had approved everything.
But when Gwen began questioning the paperwork, Dad grew angry.
“He told me you were being difficult,” she said. “That you'd eventually sign whatever was needed.”
I stared at her.
“Did you ever ask me?”
She shook her head.
“Why not?”
Her face reddened.
“Because I didn't want to hear you say no.”
That answer was more honest than anything she'd said to me in years.
I leaned back.
“So you knew there was a possibility I hadn't agreed.”
“Yes.”
“And you continued?”
She nodded.
I felt anger rising.
Not the explosive kind.
Something colder.
More exhausted.
“Gwen, I trusted you.”
She began crying.
I didn't reach for her.
Not because I wanted to punish her.
But because comforting her was not my responsibility.
Not in that moment.
She wiped her cheeks.
“I thought if the business succeeded, everything would work out.”
“And if it failed?”
She looked down.
I answered for her.
“Then the obligations would fall on me.”
Gwen said nothing.
Melissa gently reminded her client to answer only what she could accurately explain.
The meeting continued for nearly an hour.
Gwen provided emails.
Messages from our father.
Drafts of the research center's business plan.
And records showing which documents she had received from Michael Trent.
The materials suggested that Michael had shared an outdated internal presentation without proper approval.
There was no immediate evidence that patient-identifying information had been disclosed.
But our compliance team would need to complete its review.
Gwen had also received payments from the family holding company.
Some were legitimate compensation for work she had performed.
Others appeared to be personal support disguised under misleading descriptions.
She acknowledged that she had continued asking me for rent money while receiving those payments.
“Why?” I asked.
She stared at the table.
“Because Dad said you could afford it.”
I almost laughed.
Of course.
Because I could afford it.
As though having resources erased my right to decide how they were used.
Then Gwen said something unexpected.
“I didn't know Poppy was in surgery when I first got to the party.”
I stared at her.
“You knew when you called me.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Yes.”
“And you said she was pathetic.”
Gwen covered her mouth.
“I know.”
“Why?”
Her voice broke.
“Because I was angry that everyone kept talking about you.”
For a moment, I genuinely couldn't speak.
“Everyone was talking about me?”
“Dad said you were trying to ruin the celebration. Mom was upset about the hospital calls. I thought you were doing it on purpose.”
I stared at my sister.
My daughter was fighting for her life, and Gwen had interpreted my desperation as an attempt to steal attention.
I had never felt more distant from another human being.
“Gwen,” I said quietly, “Poppy nearly died.”
She began crying harder.
“I know.”
“No. I don't think you do.”
I leaned forward.
“She was eight years old. She was unconscious. The doctors couldn't promise she'd survive the operation.”
Gwen looked at me through her tears.
“And while I was waiting to find out whether I'd ever hear my daughter laugh again, you called me to celebrate the fact that our parents had abandoned us.”
She couldn't answer.
I continued.
“You didn't just hurt me. You made a decision about what kind of person you wanted to be.”
Gwen lowered her head.
“I hate what I did.”
I believed she meant it in that moment.
But remorse wasn't the same as change.
And an apology couldn't erase a choice.
When the meeting ended, Gwen stood near the doorway.
“Can I see Poppy?”
I shook my head.
“Not now.”
She looked devastated.
“Brooke, please.”
“Poppy is recovering. She doesn't need to carry your guilt.”
Gwen nodded slowly.
“Will you ever forgive me?”
I considered the question.
“I don't know.”
Her face crumpled.
“I understand.”
I looked at her.
“Whether I forgive you or not, you still need to become someone who would never do this again.”
For the first time, Gwen didn't argue.
She simply nodded.
After she left, Vanessa and I reviewed the information.
The documents raised new questions about my father's conduct.
Gwen's cooperation might help establish what had occurred.
But it wouldn't automatically eliminate her own responsibility.
I wanted the process to be fair.
Even if that meant the truth was uncomfortable for everyone.
That evening, I returned to the rehabilitation center.
Poppy had made another drawing.
This one showed two women standing beside a small girl in a wheelchair.
One woman had brown hair.
The other had curly black hair.
“Who's that?” I asked, pointing to Rachel.
Poppy smiled.
“Aunt Rachel.”
“And where are we?”
“At the park.”
I studied the picture.
There were flowers.
A picnic blanket.
A little dog.
And above everything was a bright yellow sun.
“That's a wonderful picture.”
Poppy looked up.
“Mom, can we go to the park when I get home?”
“Absolutely.”
“Even if I still need my chair?”
I smiled.
“Especially then.”
She looked satisfied.
For a moment, I felt something I hadn't experienced since the accident.
Peace.
Then my phone rang.
It was Vanessa.
Her voice was tense.
“Brooke, your father has just contacted the lender.”
I stepped into the hallway.
“What did he say?”
“He's accusing Gwen of acting without his knowledge.”
I closed my eyes.
“He's blaming her?”
“Yes. And there's something else.”
“What?”
“His attorney says your father intends to hold a press conference tomorrow morning.”
I frowned.
“About what?”
May you like
Vanessa paused.
“He plans to announce that you've been financially abusing your parents for years.”
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