Chapter 9 - THE BROTHER WHO BETRAYED US TWICE
“I DIDN'T TAKE THE MONEY, CLAIRE,” NATHAN SAID. “I WAS TRYING TO STOP MY MOTHER FROM MAKING IT DISAPPEAR.”
I wanted to believe him.
That was the problem.
I had spent five years believing people who didn't deserve my trust.
Now every explanation sounded like another carefully rehearsed lie.
Nathan sat across from me in Rebecca's office, his shoulders hunched and his face pale.
The police had questioned him that morning.
He had agreed to provide access to his business records and electronic devices through his attorney.
But the account activity still needed explaining.
“You logged in,” I said.
“Yes.”
“After you gave me the envelope?”
“Yes.”
“Without telling me?”
He looked down.
“Yes.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Do you understand how that looks?”
“Of course.”
“Then explain it.”
Nathan took a deep breath.
“Mom called me after Garrett was arrested. She told me to access an old business account and transfer the remaining balance.”
My stomach tightened.
“How much?”
“About $430,000.”
I stared at him.
“Where?”
“To a company in the Cayman Islands.”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“Did you make the transfer?”
“No.”
“Can you prove that?”
“I saved the instructions and contacted the bank's fraud department. I asked them to place a restriction on the account.”
Rebecca studied him.
“Why use your credentials?”
“Mom claimed Garrett had authorized it months ago. She said I was the only person who could complete the transaction without triggering additional review.”
I looked at him.
“And you believed her?”
“No. That's why I didn't send the money.”
He removed his phone.
“I recorded the call.”
Rebecca asked him to preserve the original file and provide it to investigators through counsel.
Nathan nodded.
Then he looked at me.
“I know you have no reason to trust me.”
“You're right.”
“I should have spoken up years ago.”
“Yes.”
“I kept telling myself I wasn't responsible because Garrett made the decisions.”
I watched him struggle with the words.
“But I was responsible for what I knew and what I chose not to do.”
For the first time, Nathan wasn't asking for forgiveness.
He was acknowledging the truth.
And that mattered.
Not enough to erase the past.
But enough for me to listen.
“What changed?” I asked.
He looked at the floor.
“My daughter.”
I blinked.
Nathan had a four-year-old daughter named Sophie.
His marriage had ended the previous year, and he shared custody with his ex-wife.
“What about Sophie?”
“She asked me why Grandma Vivian said people without money don't matter.”
My chest tightened.
Nathan continued.
“She told me Grandma said she should never marry someone poor.”
He swallowed.
“And I realized I was teaching my daughter that money mattered more than honesty.”
I looked away.
My father had taught me the opposite.
Maybe that was why I had endured so much.
I had believed that love meant helping people through difficult times.
Garrett had exploited that belief until generosity became a form of captivity.
Nathan wiped his eyes.
“I don't want Sophie growing up thinking this is normal.”
Rebecca asked him several more questions about the accounts.
Then she explained that cooperation could be relevant to the investigation but would not erase his own potential responsibility.
Nathan accepted that.
“I'll tell them everything.”
I studied his face.
“Even if it means testifying against your mother?”
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Yes.”
“And Garrett?”
“Yes.”
For the first time, I believed he might actually mean it.
That afternoon, investigators confirmed that the attempted transfer had not been completed.
The bank had restricted the account pending review.
Nathan's call recording supported his account of Vivian's instructions, although investigators still needed to authenticate it.
Meanwhile, Garrett had been released from custody subject to legal conditions.
Rebecca informed me that he had retained an aggressive defense attorney named Charles Hargrove.
Within hours, Hargrove sent a letter accusing me of attempting to damage Garrett's reputation and demanding that I stop making public allegations.
I read it twice.
Then handed it back.
“Does he think I'm going to be frightened?”
Rebecca gave a small smile.
“He may be counting on the person Garrett trained you to be.”
I looked at her.
“That person doesn't exist anymore.”
She nodded.
“Then we'll respond through the proper channels.”
I spent the evening at Emma's apartment.
Her eight-year-old son, Oliver, was building a cardboard castle in the living room.
He asked whether I wanted to help.
I almost said no.
My mind was full of financial records, threats, and memories.
But then I remembered my father kneeling beside me when I was little, helping me build a birdhouse.
So I sat on the floor.
Oliver handed me a cardboard tower.
“This part keeps falling.”
I examined it.
“The base is too narrow.”
He frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It needs stronger support.”
He thought about that.
Then he smiled.
“Like people?”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Mom says people need support when they're having a bad day.”
My throat tightened.
“Yes, Oliver. Exactly like people.”
We spent the next hour building the castle.
For the first time in weeks, I laughed.
Not because everything was okay.
But because I was beginning to remember that life contained more than betrayal.
Later that night, Emma brought me tea.
“You look different,” she said.
“How?”
“Like you're finally starting to believe you deserve better.”
I smiled faintly.
“I'm trying.”
My phone rang.
Rebecca.
I answered immediately.
“What's wrong?”
“Claire, we received the preliminary forensic report on Melissa's recording.”
I sat upright.
“And?”
“The audio appears consistent with the original recording system, though additional analysis is continuing.”
“Did they hear the argument?”
“Yes.”
My heart pounded.
“Did they hear my father collapse?”
Rebecca paused.
“Claire, the recording captures something else.”
“What?”
“After Thomas tells Garrett and Vivian to leave, there's a third voice.”
I stared at the wall.
“A third person?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Rebecca took a breath.
May you like
“The investigators believe it may be someone you know very well.”
End of Chapter 9.
Related Stories
