I saw Brooke two days later.
Not because I had decided to forgive her.
Not because Mercer thought it would help the investigation.
Because she requested the meeting through her attorney, and after twenty-four hours of refusing, I realized I needed to hear certain things from her directly.
The interview room contained a metal table and four chairs.
Brooke was already seated when I entered.
She looked smaller than I remembered.
Not physically.
Some people fill rooms through expectation. Brooke had always done that. Everyone watched her mood, anticipated her reactions, adjusted themselves around her.
Now nobody was adjusting.
Her wrists weren't cuffed.
Her attorney sat beside her.
Mercer remained near the door.
I took the chair opposite.
Brooke looked at me.
“Hi.”
I didn't answer.
She swallowed.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Tell me about Aaron.”
No greeting.
No family history.
No apology.
She nodded.
“I met him at a bar.”
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
“Before Holt Ridge officially launched?”
“A few months before.”
I felt my jaw tighten.
“Was that coincidence?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Richard told me.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
I leaned back.
“Start at the beginning.”
Brooke looked at her hands.
“I was gambling.”
“How much?”
“Too much.”
“Numbers.”
Her attorney shifted.
Brooke answered anyway.
“About forty thousand in debt when I met Aaron.”
“Mom said twenty.”
“They knew about twenty.”
Of course.
“I had credit cards too. Payday loans. Money I borrowed from friends.”
“And Aaron knew?”
“Not immediately.”
“What did he tell you he did?”
“Network security.”
“That part was true.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you trust him?”
She looked at me with an expression I couldn't immediately read.
“Because he never treated me like I was a problem.”
The answer hurt in a place I didn't want touched.
“He listened. He didn't lecture me. When I told him about the debt, he said it was fixable.”
“And then?”
“He paid five thousand.”
“With Lawson’s money?”
“I didn't know that.”
“Did you ask?”
“No.”
“Convenient.”
She flinched.
I didn't apologize.
Brooke continued.
“Aaron started asking about the family.”
“What kind of questions?”
“What Mom and Dad did. Whether they owned their house. What you were doing.”
“Me specifically?”
“Yes.”
“When did Holt Ridge come up?”
“Early.”
“How early?”
“Maybe the second week.”
I stared at her.
“And that didn't seem strange?”
“You talked about Holt Ridge constantly.”
I almost objected.
Then remembered Daniel saying the same thing.
In those days I told everyone.
I had no investors, no reputation, barely enough money.
Talking about the company made it feel real.
“What did you tell Aaron?”
“Everything I knew.”
“What did you know?”
“Not much.”
She gave a humorless laugh.
“You never told me much.”
That was true.
“So I listened.”
“To whom?”
“Mom and Dad. You. People at holidays.”
My skin crawled.
Every casual family conversation had become intelligence.
“What did Aaron want?”
“At first he said he was interested because you were ambitious.”
“And you believed that.”
“Yes.”
“When did he introduce Lawson?”
“About eight months later.”
That was after Holt Ridge purchased Hanover Street.
“Where?”
“A restaurant.”
“What did Lawson say?”
“That he worked in finance.”
“Did he mention his mother?”
“No.”
“Hanover Street?”
“No.”
“So when did you learn the connection?”
“Much later.”
I leaned forward.
“What happened after dinner?”
Brooke rubbed her thumb against the table edge.
“Richard offered to help with my debt.”
“Why?”
“He said Aaron told him I was smart.”
I couldn't hide my reaction.
Brooke noticed.
“I know.”
Her voice hardened briefly.
“I know how stupid it sounds now.”
“What did he ask in return?”
“Nothing at first.”
“That wasn't nothing.”
“No.”
“What was the first thing?”
“A copy of one of your company brochures.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“He said he was interested in investing.”
“And then?”
“Your business card.”
“Then?”
“Information about your first project.”
“Then?”
“Mom and Dad’s signatures.”
There it was.
“How did he ask for those?”
“He didn't.”
“Aaron did?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He said he was testing identity verification software.”
I stared at her.
“And you believed him.”
“At first.”
“When did you stop believing?”
Brooke went quiet.
“Brooke.”
“Probably before I admitted it.”
That was the first answer she gave that sounded completely honest.
She continued.
“Aaron would ask for things. Tax documents. Old mail. Account numbers. Nothing felt huge by itself.”
“Until it did.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“When Richard showed me the first loan.”
“Whose?”
“Dad’s.”
My hands tightened beneath the table.
“What loan?”
“A personal credit line. Eight thousand dollars.”
Dad had never mentioned it.
“Did Dad know?”
“No.”
“What happened to the money?”
“It paid my debt.”
I stared at her.
“You let them steal from Dad to pay your gambling debt.”
Brooke’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“Don't cry.”
She wiped them immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
“I don't care right now.”
She nodded.
Mercer watched silently.
“What happened next?”
“I told Aaron I wanted out.”
“And?”
“He showed me the documents with my signature.”
“What documents?”
“Applications. Transfers. Fake IDs.”
“Things you actually signed?”
“Some.”
“Things he forged?”
“Some.”
“So he could make you responsible for everything.”
“Yes.”
“And you stayed.”
“Yes.”
“How long were you actually dating him?”
“Almost two years.”
“How long were you working with him?”
“Until Christmas.”
The distinction was important.
Their romantic relationship ended three years ago.
The criminal relationship continued.
“What did Lawson want from Holt Ridge?”
Brooke looked at me.
“At first I thought money.”
“And later?”
“Revenge.”
I said nothing.
“He hated you.”
“He didn't know me.”
“He thought he did.”
Brooke leaned back.
“Richard talked about Hanover Street constantly. He said his mother was confused when she sold. He said Samuel manipulated her.”
“Samuel had power of attorney.”
“I know.”
“He said I cheated her?”
“He said you took advantage.”
“I was twenty-six years old buying a collapsing duplex.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I know now.”
Her attorney touched her arm.
Brooke shook him off gently.
“He watched Holt Ridge grow using money from the back parcel.”
I stared at her.
“How did he know where the money went?”
“He followed everything.”
“Public records?”
“Some.”
“Other things?”
“Aaron.”
I felt sick.
“Richard believed every project you built after Hanover Street belonged partly to him.”
“That is insane.”
“Yes.”
“Did Aaron believe it?”
“I don't think Aaron cared.”
“What did Aaron want?”
“Money.”
That made sense.
“And you?”
Brooke's face changed.
“At first?”
“Yes.”
“To stop being the failure.”
The answer irritated me because some part of it made sense.
I waited.
“You were always the one who had things figured out.”
“No, I wasn't.”
“To me you were.”
“I worked constantly.”
“I know.”
“You could have too.”
“I know.”
“You could have asked me for help.”
Her eyes met mine.
“I didn't want your help.”
“Why?”
“Because then you'd know.”
“Know what?”
“That I wasn't who Mom and Dad thought I was.”
I almost laughed.
“Brooke, they spent our entire lives rescuing you.”
“Not from that.”
She looked down.
“They thought I was scattered. Emotional. Bad with money.”
“You were.”
“They didn't know I lied to them.”
“They know now.”
“Yes.”
The room went quiet.
I asked about the letters.
That was the question I had been avoiding.
Brooke closed her eyes.
“When did you start taking them?”
“College.”
“Why?”
“Because Mom wrote you after graduation.”
“That doesn't answer why.”
Brooke stared at the table.
“She cried while she wrote it.”
I waited.
“She kept saying how proud she was.”
“And?”
“I was sitting right there.”
Her voice became quieter.
“I had dropped two classes and lied about it. I owed money. My boyfriend had just dumped me.”
The picture formed.
Mom writing about me.
Brooke feeling diminished.
“So you took the letter.”
“Yes.”
“And told her you mailed it.”
“Yes.”
“What did you tell me?”
“Nothing.”
“That worked.”
“I know.”
“And after that?”
“It got easier.”
My stomach turned.
She intercepted birthday cards.
Letters.
One package.
Deleted voicemails when she had access to my phone.
Told Mom I was too busy.
Told Dad I didn't like sentimental messages.
Told me they were occupied with her.
Not constantly.
That was what made it effective.
A few missing pieces each year.
Enough to alter the picture.
“Why did you tell them Holt Ridge was failing?”
“Richard.”
I looked up.
“He told me to.”
“Why?”
“To keep Mom and Dad from asking you about money.”
“What money?”
“The fake loans.”
Of course.
If my parents believed I was financially unstable, fraudulent debts became plausible.
Brooke had taken an old family pattern and turned it into financial camouflage.
“Did Richard tell you to make them miss Christmas?”
“Aaron did.”
“Why?”
“He wanted the house empty.”
“For the documents?”
“Yes.”
“But I was hosting people.”
“I didn't know.”
“You told Mom I might be away.”
“Aaron told me to.”
“Why didn't you check?”
Brooke gave me a miserable look.
“Because we barely talked.”
Another consequence of the distance she had created herself.
“When you drove by and saw everyone?”
“I called Aaron.”
“We heard the recording.”
She nodded.
“I didn't go inside.”
“You photographed me.”
“Yes.”
“Then what?”
“I left.”
“Who entered later?”
“I don't know.”
“Brooke.”
“I really don't.”
“What about the greenhouse code?”
“I gave it to Aaron.”
“When?”
“Months ago.”
“How did you get it?”
“His old Vantage records.”
“So Aaron could have entered.”
“Yes.”
“But you took the property folder.”
Her face changed.
“I came back Christmas morning.”
“You entered my house?”
“The code still worked.”
“You went into my office.”
“Yes.”
“You stole the originals.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew Aaron wanted them.”
“So you stole them first.”
“Yes.”
“And put them in storage.”
“Yes.”
“Why not tell me?”
She laughed once, bitterly.
“What was I supposed to say? Merry Christmas, I've been helping people steal from you for six years, but good news, I stole your documents before they could?”
I didn't smile.
Neither did she.
“Why the anonymous envelope?”
“That wasn't me.”
I stopped.
“The first one?”
“No.”
“The note in my office?”
“No.”
“Carla’s handwriting?”
“I didn't do that.”
I looked at Mercer.
He was already taking notes.
“Did Aaron?”
“I don't know.”
“Lawson?”
“Maybe.”
“So somebody else was in my house.”
“Yes.”
“When you went Christmas morning, was the envelope already there?”
Brooke frowned.
“What envelope?”
I believed her.
That was the disturbing part.
Mercer stepped forward.
“Brooke, who else knew the greenhouse code?”
“Aaron.”
“Lawson?”
“I don't know.”
“Anyone else?”
She hesitated.
“Emily.”
Lawson’s assistant.
“Why would Emily know?”
“She handled contractor invoices sometimes.”
Mercer wrote the name.
Then Brooke said, “There’s someone else.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“Who?”
“Aaron called him David.”
“Last name?”
“I never heard one.”
“What did David do?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you meet him?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“About four years ago.”
“Where?”
“Richard’s office.”
“What did he look like?”
“Older. Maybe sixty. Gray hair. Expensive clothes.”
Not useful.
“What did they discuss?”
Brooke stared at me.
“You.”
The room went still.
“What about me?”
“David asked whether you still signed every acquisition personally.”
My skin prickled.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. Aaron answered.”
“What did he say?”
“That you did.”
Mercer asked, “Anything else?”
Brooke nodded.
“David said they shouldn't move until you had something worth taking.”
I felt cold.
Henderson.
They had waited.
Not because the scheme was unfinished.
Because Holt Ridge had not yet become valuable enough.
“Who is David?”
“I don't know.”
“Did Richard seem to work for him?”
Brooke thought.
“No.”
“Aaron?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
She looked frightened.
“They treated him like a partner.”
Mercer asked whether she could identify him from photographs.
“Yes.”
He left to arrange it.
I stood.
Brooke looked up.
“Miranda.”
I stopped.
“I know saying sorry doesn't matter.”
“No.”
“I know.”
I moved toward the door.
“There's one more thing.”
I turned.
She swallowed.
“Richard wasn't angry only about Hanover Street.”
“What else?”
“I don't know.”
“You just said—”
“He told Aaron once that your father knew what happened.”
I stared at her.
“What happened with what?”
“I don't know.”
“Did Dad know Richard?”
“Richard said he did.”
My father had never mentioned that.
“Exactly what did he say?”
Brooke searched her memory.
“He said, ‘Thomas Hale remembers more than he admits.’”
My pulse slowed.
“When?”
“Last summer.”
“Did you ask Dad?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Richard told me not to.”
I looked at my sister.
For six years she had followed instructions because every lie made the next one easier.
Now one of those lies pointed somewhere I hadn't expected.
My father.
I left the interview room and called him.
“Dad.”
“Is Brooke okay?”
“She’s alive.”
“I know. Your mother told me.”
“I need to ask you something.”
“All right.”
“Do you know Richard Lawson?”
Silence.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
My stomach dropped.
“Dad.”
His answer came slowly.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“How?”
Another pause.
“I worked for his father.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 12: My Father’s History With the Lawson Family Revealed Why Richard Chose Holt Ridge, and Why Hanover Street Was Never Really About a Duplex
Three Days Before Christmas, My Parents Canceled the Visit I Had Spent Years Quietly Hoping They Would Finally Make
Part 11 of 35
