Chapter 4 - The Golden Child Cracks
By noon, the phone war had escalated from parental threats to sisterly hysterics.
I was at my office desk downtown, reviewing quarterly ledger balances for a logistics firm, when my personal cell phone lit up. It was Brooke. She had called six times in forty minutes. When I ignored the calls, she sent a voice message that was forty-five seconds of unadulterated venom.
I plugged in my earbuds and hit play.
“You think you’re so smart, don't you, Maya?” Brooke’s voice sounded ragged, stripped of the breezy, glamorous tone she used for her client meetings. “You think you can humiliate me in front of Tyler’s parents at the reunion and now you’re trying to bankrupt my wedding? Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The caterer cancelled the deposit! The dock builders walked off the job! Tyler’s mother is asking why there’s collection notices showing up at the cabin address! If you don't wire the money by five o'clock today, I swear to God I will tell the entire family you’re an envious, bitter leech who’s trying to destroy my happiness!”
I listened to it twice, then calmly downloaded the audio file onto an encrypted external thumb drive, alongside the photos I had taken of my bruised cheek on Saturday night.
I knew Brooke’s fiancé, Tyler Vance. He was the junior partner at a mid-tier commercial real estate firm in Minneapolis, a man obsessed with status, pedigree, and pristine optics. Tyler had proposed to Brooke largely because she had presented herself as the beloved, wealthy scion of an old-money lakefront family. He believed she owned Grandma’s estate free and clear, that she ran a wildly lucrative design agency, and that her family was a tight-knit clan of dignified achievers.
The reality was far uglier. Brooke’s design firm was hemorrhaging cash, surviving solely on business loans cosigned by our father using his teacher’s pension as collateral.
At 2:30 PM, my office receptionist buzzed my desk line. ""Maya? There’s a young woman in the lobby demanding to see you. She doesn't have an appointment, and she’s... well, she’s making quite a scene.""
I closed my laptop, smoothed down my blazer, and walked out to the glass-walled reception foyer.
Brooke was pacing the hardwood floor like a caged predator. Her hair, normally styled in effortless beach waves, was pulled back in a messy claw clip, and her sunglasses were pushed atop her head to reveal mascara streaks under her eyes. Several junior analysts and clients were looking on in uncomfortable fascination.
""Maya!"" she hissed, storming toward me the moment I stepped through the security door. ""You’re not answering your texts! You need to fix this right now!""
""Keep your voice down, Brooke,"" I said, my tone deadly quiet. ""You are in my place of business.""
""I don't give a damn about your little cube farm!"" she snarled, waving her manicured hand in my face. ""The bank froze the account because Dad tried to transfer emergency funds from his pension savings and the bank flagged it! My wedding is in six weeks! Six weeks, Maya! Do you know what people will say if the venue cancels? If the dock isn't finished?""
""You slapped me, Brooke,"" I reminded her, crossing my arms. ""In front of my son and daughter.""
""Because your kid is an insolent little brat who needs to be put in his place!"" she spat without a second of hesitation.
A sharp gasp came from behind the reception desk. My coworker Sarah was staring at Brooke with wide, horrified eyes.
""Thank you,"" I said softly, reaching into my pocket and tapping the screen of my phone to stop the audio recording app I had initiated before walking into the lobby. ""You just admitted on tape to striking me and confirmed your motive.""
Brooke froze. Her pale face went instantly chalk-white.
""You didn't..."" she stammered, stepping back.
May you like
""Leave this building right now,"" I told her, stepping forward until she was forced to retreat toward the double glass exit doors. ""If you ever show up at my job again, building security will escort you out in handcuffs. If you ever speak to or about Emmett again, I will file a restraining order that will make your society wedding impossible to host anywhere in this state. Go home, Brooke. Figure out how to pay for your own lies.""
Brooke looked around the lobby, suddenly realizing that every pair of eyes was staring at her with utter disgust. With a choked sob of rage and humiliation, she spun around, her designer heels squeaking loudly on the tile, and sprinted through the revolving doors.
