Chapter 12 - What Brandon Owed
I knew Bellwether had bought Gertrude's old mortgage. I hadn't known my father had warned the trust against doing business with it.
Renee supplied a letter from Dad explaining that the company's founder had pushed distressed homeowners into loans they couldn't repay. He hadn't accused the company of crimes. He'd said its business practices were too opaque for money held on behalf of other people.
Brandon had known. Dad had shown him the letter during a family dinner, years earlier, and I'd forgotten the argument that followed.
Daniel traced Brandon's financial trouble through public records and statements we had lawful access to. His consulting practice had been losing money for two years. A luxury apartment project he'd promoted never broke ground. Investors were demanding repayment, and he'd quietly borrowed against an account Gertrude relied on for retirement.
"He was trying to hide a disaster," Marisol said.
"He chose to make it mine."
A message from Brandon arrived while we were talking.
Please let me fix this before our whole family gets destroyed.
I typed: Whose family? Then deleted it. I didn't owe him a clever line. I owed myself a clear record.
I forwarded the message to Daniel.
That afternoon Brandon came to Marisol's building. He stood outside the security door with wet hair and a grocery bag, carrying the soup I'd once asked him to make whenever I was sick. I watched him through the lobby camera.
"Abby," he said over the intercom, "I never meant for you to get hurt."
"You disabled the smoke detector."
"Mom handled the kitchen. I didn't know about the oil."
"You locked the door."
His eyes closed. "Patrick told us it was the only way to stop you signing the complaint before we could explain."
"Patrick?"
May you like
Brandon opened his mouth, then looked behind him toward the street.
A black sedan had pulled up at the curb. The driver was taking photographs of him.
