Chapter 5 - Blood Isn't an Alibi
“You destroyed yourself the day you ordered a counterfeit diploma from the internet,” I said, pulling my sleeve out of his trembling grip. “And the fact that you think you can bribe me with ninety thousand dollars of dirty money shows exactly who you are. Keep your money, Nathan. You’re going to need every penny of it for criminal defense attorneys.”
Before he could respond, our mother rounded the corner with a bright, performative smile that withered instantly as she looked at us. “What on earth is taking you two so long? Nathan, your father wants to open the nineteen-ninety-six vintage port to celebrate your practice's expansion. Stop lingering in the hallway with your sister and come join the party.”
Nathan swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, trying desperately to reconstruct his golden-boy demeanor. “Coming, Mom.”
“Wait,” I said clearly, stepping around Nathan into the bright chandelier light of the living room. “Mom, don’t open the port just yet. In fact, everyone needs to sit down. There’s an announcement that needs to be made, and it concerns Nathan’s practice.”
Mom’s eyes lit up with that familiar, predatory pride. “Oh! Did you get that corporate contract with the tech firm, Nathan? Did you make senior partner at the advisory board?”
Nathan’s face turned completely gray. He reached out blindly to grab my shoulder to stop me, but I shook him off and walked directly into the dining room where Dad, Aunt Diane, and Lauren were sitting with dessert plates. The warmth in the room was palpable, built on decades of comfortable lies and carefully preserved favoritism. Dad looked up, his reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose, holding an expensive bottle of port with a triumphant grin.
“What’s the secret, son?” Dad bellowed warmly. “Don’t keep us waiting! If you landed that retainer, we’re ordering another case of this wine!”
I unzipped my briefcase, pulled out the thick Manila folder containing the certified verification letters, and laid them squarely across the center of the mahogany table, directly next to the basket of warm dinner rolls.
“Nathan didn't land a new corporate contract, Dad,” I said, my voice steady, carrying clearly across the quiet room. “And he isn’t going to be expanding his practice downtown. In fact, if he has any sense left at all, he’s going to call a defense attorney before the state licensing division opens on Monday morning.”
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Dad’s smile vanished, replaced by an instant scowl of protective anger. “What kind of sick stunt is this, Rachel? Are you so bitter about your brother’s success that you have to ruin Thanksgiving dessert with your petty jealousy?”
“Read the letters, Dad,” I said simply. “Then tell me how jealous I am.”
