Chapter 8 - My Brother's Confession
Julian asked to see me alone.
I refused.
Then he asked again.
This time through his attorney.
Samuel said I should not go.
Rebecca said investigators preferred that I did not contaminate a potential statement.
I went anyway.
Not alone.
Marcus waited outside the interview room.
Julian sat behind a metal table in a police facility downtown.
His face was purple along one cheek.
There was a cut above his eyebrow.
For the first time since we were children, my brother looked small.
Not innocent.
Small.
He stared at me.
“You look like Mom.”
I almost laughed.
“Don’t.”
“She used to make that face when she was disappointed.”
“You hit me beside Dad’s coffin.”
He looked down.
“I know.”
“You accused me of stealing.”
“I know.”
“You helped forge legal documents.”
His jaw tightened.
“I didn’t forge them.”
“You helped.”
“Yes.”
The word came out barely above a whisper.
I sat opposite him.
“Why?”
He looked at his hands.
“Because I owed money.”
“How much?”
“Originally?”
“That is not a comforting word.”
“Eight hundred thousand.”
My stomach turned.
“To who?”
“Private lenders.”
“Loan sharks?”
“People who don’t send reminder letters.”
“What happened to the money?”
“Investments.”
“What investments?”
He laughed bitterly.
“Bad ones.”
Of course.
Julian had always believed the next opportunity would prove he was smarter than everyone who warned him.
“I lost most of it. Then Raymond found out.”
“How?”
“He already knew.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“He was tracking company money.”
“Because he was stealing it.”
Julian looked at me.
“Not at first.”
I waited.
“Raymond started moving money years ago because Dad was hiding losses.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Dad’s company nearly collapsed eight years ago.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I handled his books.”
“Recently. Not then.”
“What happened?”
“A major customer defaulted. Then another contract failed. Dad borrowed against personal property to keep payroll going.”
This sounded possible.
Dad had never discussed business weakness with us.
Especially not with me when I was younger.
“Raymond created fake vendors to move money.”
“For himself?”
“At first, he claimed it was to hide cash reserves from creditors.”
“Illegal.”
“Yes.”
“And Dad knew?”
Julian hesitated.
“No.”
“Then why did Raymond keep doing it after the company recovered?”
“Because he realized nobody noticed.”
There it was.
A temporary crime becoming a permanent income stream.
“How much?”
“Over the years? I don’t know. Millions.”
“And you joined him.”
“I found the accounts.”
“You could have told Dad.”
“I needed money.”
I closed my eyes.
Eight hundred thousand dollars.
Dad would have paid it.
He would have been furious.
But he would have saved Julian again.
Maybe that was exactly why Julian did not ask.
Pride.
Shame.
Greed.
Perhaps all three.
“Then Route 18 happened,” he said.
“Raymond knew about the highway plan.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He paid someone.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“You keep not knowing important things.”
“He never told me names.”
“What was your role?”
“To convince Dad to sell.”
“And when he refused?”
Julian stared at the table.
“Raymond said we needed temporary control.”
“The forged power of attorney.”
“Yes.”
“Serena witnessed it.”
His eyes closed.
“She told you?”
“Yes.”
He whispered something ugly under his breath.
“Don’t blame her.”
“She betrayed me.”
“She told the truth.”
“She took my money.”
“Your stolen money?”
He looked up angrily.
Then his anger collapsed.
“Elena, I didn’t know Raymond was messing with Dad’s medication.”
“What did you know?”
“That Keller would help document cognitive impairment.”
“How?”
“I thought they would exaggerate episodes of confusion.”
“You were willing to make Dad look mentally incompetent.”
“For the sale.”
“Stop saying that like it excuses anything.”
He slammed his hand against the table.
“I know!”
I stared at him.
His breathing shook.
Then he started crying.
I had seen Julian angry.
Drunk.
Arrogant.
Manipulative.
I had almost never seen him cry.
Not even at Mom’s funeral.
“I didn’t know Dad could die,” he whispered.
I heard his words from the phone call again.
“What was in your trunk?”
He looked horrified.
“I didn’t put it there.”
“The medication kit?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“Raymond.”
“How?”
“I met him at the warehouse.”
“Why?”
“He said Serena was talking.”
“What happened?”
“He wanted to know what Dad left in the safe.”
“You told him?”
“I told him you opened Folder Three.”
His eyes filled with shame.
“That’s why you got the threat.”
I said nothing.
“He asked whether you found Meridian.”
“And?”
“I said I didn’t know.”
“Then he beat you?”
“Not him.”
“Who?”
“Two men came in.”
“Did you recognize them?”
“No.”
“He watched?”
Julian nodded.
The image disturbed me more than I expected.
Raymond watching his nephew beaten.
Family meant nothing to him.
Only leverage.
“When I woke up, I was alone. I drove until I couldn’t.”
“The medication kit?”
“I swear I never saw it.”
“Why plant it on you?”
“To make me the fall guy.”
That made sense.
Too much sense.
Raymond needed the investigation to stop with Julian.
The reckless son.
The gambling debts.
The forged documents.
The inheritance fight.
A perfect villain.
Except Raymond had underestimated Dad.
And maybe underestimated Serena.
“Where is the proof?” I asked.
“What proof?”
“That Raymond controlled the scheme.”
Julian stared at me.
“You already have it.”
“Where?”
“Dad’s flash drive.”
My pulse changed.
“The one in the safe?”
“Yes.”
“What’s on it?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“How do you know about it?”
“Dad confronted me two weeks before he went into the hospital.”
That surprised me.
“What did he say?”
“He told me he knew everything.”
“Everything?”
“The company money. Route 18. The documents.”
“Did he mention Raymond?”
“No.”
Julian swallowed.
“He gave me one chance.”
“To do what?”
“Come to you.”
My eyes filled unexpectedly.
“Me?”
“He said, ‘Tell your sister the truth before I die, and maybe she’ll help you become a man I can forgive.’”
I could hear Dad saying it.
I hated that.
Because grief came rushing back harder than anger.
“And you didn’t.”
Julian shook his head.
“Raymond told me Dad was bluffing.”
“So you chose Raymond.”
“Yes.”
The room remained silent for a long time.
Then Julian leaned closer.
“Elena, listen carefully.”
“What?”
“Dad kept two flash drives.”
My stomach tightened.
“One in the safe.”
“And one somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why two?”
“Because he didn’t trust the safe.”
I remembered Dad pressing his old wristwatch into my palm at the hospital.
Take this home.
I had put it in my jewelry box.
My heartbeat accelerated.
“What kind of flash drive?”
“I never saw it.”
“What did Dad say?”
Julian frowned, thinking.
“He told Raymond something once.”
“What?”
“He said, ‘You’ve spent your whole life looking inside locked boxes. That’s why you’ll never understand where careful men hide things.’”
I stood.
“Elena?”
I was already moving toward the door.
Dad’s watch.
I drove home with Marcus behind me.
Upstairs, I opened my jewelry box.
The old watch lay exactly where I had left it.
Brown leather strap.
Gold case.
Dad wore it every day for twenty-three years.
My fingers shook as I turned it over.
Nothing.
Then I noticed a tiny seam beneath the leather strap.
I pressed it.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside was a micro-storage card.
And beneath it, folded smaller than my thumbnail, one strip of paper.
May you like
Four handwritten words.
ELENA — TRUST THE ORIGINAL.
