Chapter 3 - The Golden Boy Unravels
As the heavy oak front door clicked shut behind the last guest, the silence that settled over the living room was deafening. The sweet scent of vanilla frosting hung in the air, mocking the wreckage of the afternoon.
My father, who had spent the entire party standing quietly by the kitchen threshold like a piece of faded furniture, finally stepped forward. His face was gray. ""Garrett,"" he said, his voice trembling with an emotion I hadn't heard from him in decades. ""Tell me you didn't steal your grandmother's money.""
Garrett backed away until his shoulders hit the wall beneath a framed portrait of our family from ten years ago. ""Dad, listen to me! It wasn't stealing! It was an investment! Grandma always said she wanted me to build something of my own. I was going to double the money on the exchange and put every cent back into the estate account before anyone noticed!""
""You gambled your dying grandmother's estate on cryptocurrency?"" Dad bellowed, his voice suddenly rattling the china cabinet. I flinched; the sudden noise sent a sharp, agonizing pull through my surgical incision. Cara instantly knelt beside my wheelchair, her hand resting over mine to keep me steady.
""It wasn't gambling!"" Garrett screamed back, his handsome face twisting with hysterical panic. ""The market tanked! The platform froze withdrawals three weeks ago! It's temporary! The founder posted on Twitter that liquidity would be restored by the end of the quarter! I just needed Reed to sign the waiver so the probate judge wouldn't ask for certified bank statements tomorrow morning! If the judge sees the account balance is down to seventeen thousand dollars, he’s going to order a forensic audit! They'll send me to prison, Dad! Don't you care about that?""
""Seventeen thousand dollars?"" Mom shrieked, her maternal composure completely shattering. She didn't look at me; she didn't look at Cara. She rushed straight toward Garrett, grabbing him by the lapels of his designer linen shirt. ""You told me you had ninety thousand left! You looked me in the eye in Miami and swore you just needed Reed’s signature to balance the legal fees! You lied to me?""
""I had to!"" Garrett yelled, shoving her hands away. ""You would have forced me to tell Dad! You would have made me sell my boat! You always told me to handle things, Mom! You told me Reed would always step in and fix it because he’s the oldest! You created this!""
""Don't you dare blame me!"" Mom shouted, raising her hand as if to strike him.
""Stop it! Both of you, just stop!"" Jenna sobbed, sinking into an armchair with her hands over her face. ""We left Reed to die. We literally sat on a sundeck drinking piña coladas while my twin brother was in septic shock, all to protect a thief. What is wrong with us?""
I sat quietly in my wheelchair, watching them tear each other apart. For thirty-eight years, this had been our dynamic: Garrett burned down the house, Mom handed me a bucket of water, Dad looked at the floor, and Jenna cheered for the flames. Whenever Garrett wrecked a car, failed a class, or defaulted on a loan, it was my credit score, my savings, or my labor that pulled him out. When I worked two jobs to put myself through engineering school, Garrett was given a brand-new sports sedan because Mom said ""his spirit needed encouragement.""
When my appendix ruptured, Mom didn't hang up because she thought I was faking. She hung up because my emergency threatened to delay the flight that Garrett needed to board before the probate filing deadline.
""Reed,"" my mother said suddenly, spinning around to face me. Her eyes were wide, wild, and desperate. She dropped to her knees right beside my wheelchair, grabbing at the fabric of my trousers. ""Reed, my sweet boy. Please. Look at your brother. He made a terrible, foolish choice, but he’s your brother. If he goes to prison, Delaney will grow up without a father. Do you want your little niece to visit her daddy through glass? Just sign the waiver. We will pay you back. Dad and I will take out a second mortgage on our house. We'll give you your full hundred thousand, dollar for dollar, I swear to God!""
I looked down at the woman who had birthed me, feeling an emptiness so profound it silenced the physical pain in my gut.
""You took out a second mortgage five years ago to pay off Garrett's tax debts, Mom,"" I said quietly. ""You don't have enough equity left in that house to buy a used bicycle.""
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Mom’s hands slipped from my legs. The room went silent again.
""Tomorrow morning at nine o'clock,"" I said, ""the probate hearing begins. And for the first time in your life, Garrett, you are going to stand in front of a judge all by yourself.""
