Mom reacted first.
"You gave him what?"
Dad remained standing near the dining table, shoulders rigid.
"Fifty thousand."
"When?"
"Two years ago."
"You gave Brooke's ex-boyfriend fifty thousand dollars and never told me?"
Dad looked toward Mercer, then Rachel, then me.
He seemed to realize there was no version of the story that would improve with delay.
"He came to the house."
"Why?"
"He said Brooke owed him money."
Mom's face changed.
"She told us he stole from her."
"I know."
"You knew that wasn't true?"
"I didn't know anything."
"You gave him fifty thousand dollars."
"I was trying to protect her."
The sentence was so familiar that something inside me snapped.
"Protect her from what?"
Dad turned toward me.
"That's what I was trying to figure out."
"No. You paid someone fifty thousand dollars before figuring it out."
He flinched.
Good.
For once, I wanted the words to land.
Dad sat.
"Daniel had documents."
"What documents?"
"Loan papers. Account records. Messages."
"Between him and Brooke?"
"Some."
"What did they show?"
He rubbed both palms over his knees.
"That they'd borrowed money together."
"For what?"
"He said real-estate deals."
I stared.
"Brooke doesn't know anything about real estate."
"That's what I told him."
"What did he say?"
"That she didn't need to. She had access."
The room fell silent.
Mercer leaned forward.
"Access to what?"
Dad looked at me.
"Your business."
My chest tightened.
"Two years ago?"
"That's what he claimed."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"I didn't believe him."
"You believed him enough to pay fifty thousand dollars."
"I believed he might hurt Brooke."
"Physically?"
"No."
"What then?"
"He threatened to report her."
Mercer's expression sharpened.
"For fraud?"
Dad nodded.
There it was.
Two years ago.
Dad had heard the word fraud connected to Brooke.
And he had paid money to make the problem disappear.
Mom looked as if she might be sick.
"You told me you withdrew that money for the lake property."
Dad closed his eyes.
"I lied."
Mom stood and walked into the kitchen.
Nobody followed.
I wanted to.
I didn't.
This wasn't the moment to rescue anyone.
Mercer asked, "How was the payment made?"
"Cashier's check."
"Payable to Daniel Price?"
"Yes."
"Do you have a copy?"
"Probably."
"Find it."
Dad nodded.
"What did Price give you in exchange?"
"A drive."
My heartbeat jumped.
"What drive?"
"Small USB stick."
"Where is it?"
"I destroyed it."
Mercer actually leaned back.
"You destroyed potential evidence?"
"I didn't know what it was."
"You paid fifty thousand dollars for it."
Dad's jaw tightened.
"He said it contained everything he'd taken from Brooke."
"What did you see?"
"Files."
"What kind?"
"Documents. Photos. Screenshots."
"Of my accounts?"
Dad looked at me.
"Some."
I stood.
"You saw my private financial records two years ago."
"Miranda—"
"And you never called me."
"I was afraid."
"For Brooke."
"Yes."
"Not for me."
He looked down.
"No."
The honesty hurt more than another excuse would have.
Mom returned.
Her eyes were red.
"Did the drive have our information too?"
Dad nodded.
"Some."
"You destroyed it?"
"Yes."
She laughed once.
A terrible sound.
"So you've been protecting her from this for two years."
"I thought it was over."
"Why would you think that?"
"Because Daniel took the money and left."
"That's not how consequences work, Thomas."
I had never heard Mom speak to him like that.
Mercer asked another question.
"Did Price contact you again?"
Dad hesitated.
"Once."
"When?"
"About eight months ago."
My pulse quickened.
"What did he want?"
"More money."
"How much?"
"He didn't say."
"Did you respond?"
"No."
"What did he say?"
Dad stared at his hands.
"That Brooke hadn't stopped."
Nine months ago, the fake corporate authorization had been created.
Eight months ago, Daniel warned Dad that Brooke hadn't stopped.
The timeline locked into place with ugly precision.
"What exactly did his message say?" Mercer asked.
"I still have it."
Every person in the room looked at him.
Dad pulled out his phone.
"You kept that?"
"I didn't know what else to do."
He scrolled through old messages.
Then handed the phone to Mercer.
The text from Daniel Price read:
You paid to close one door. She opened five more.
Below it was a photograph.
A banking screen.
Holt Ridge.
My account.
My name.
I felt the room tilt.
"That's real," I said.
"How can you tell?" Megan asked.
"The project code."
The screenshot showed a transaction involving Ridgeview Commons, a development that had never been publicly associated with the account number visible on screen.
Someone had access.
Real access.
Not just old documents.
I turned toward Dad.
"What did you do after receiving this?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"I called Brooke."
"Of course you did."
"She denied it."
"And you accepted that?"
"She cried."
I laughed in disbelief.
"That was enough?"
"I wanted it to be."
The truth of that sentence filled the room.
Dad hadn't believed Brooke because her evidence was stronger.
He believed her because the alternative required action.
And action meant admitting the family problem was not temporary, emotional, or fixable with money.
It was serious.
Maybe criminal.
Maybe dangerous.
Rachel took Dad's phone and documented the message.
"Do not delete anything."
"I won't."
"You've already destroyed evidence once."
He lowered his head.
"I know."
Mercer asked whether Daniel had ever threatened Dad personally.
"No."
"Did he indicate he was working with Brooke?"
"No."
"Against her?"
"I couldn't tell."
"That's important."
Dad looked confused.
"Why?"
"Because Daniel Price may be a co-conspirator, a victim, an extortionist, or some combination."
That distinction mattered.
I had been assuming Daniel and Brooke were together in whatever this was.
Maybe they had been.
Maybe they weren't anymore.
"What if he's the one who broke into my garage?" I asked.
"Possible."
"What if Brooke sent him?"
"Possible."
"What if he sent that Christmas Eve photo?"
"Possible."
I hated that word.
Possible.
Everything was possible.
Almost nothing was proven.
At seven that evening, Mom and Dad left separately.
Mom refused to ride with him.
Dad didn't argue.
Before leaving, Mom hugged me again.
This time she whispered, "I thought helping Brooke was kindness."
I said nothing.
She pulled back.
"I think we taught her that consequences could always be transferred to someone else."
That was closer to the truth.
After they left, Rachel stayed.
"So," she said, "your family history is actively trying to become a federal indictment."
"Helpful."
"It's my bedside manner."
Megan poured wine.
Rachel declined.
I accepted.
We spent another hour discussing damage control for Holt Ridge.
The company couldn't appear unstable.
Employees needed to know only what affected them.
Banking credentials would change.
Authorization systems would become dual-control.
Every vendor account would be verified.
Every old contract would be reviewed for unusual amendments.
Then Rachel found something.
She was checking archived corporate filings when she frowned at her screen.
"Miranda."
"What?"
"Did you ever authorize a secondary consulting vendor called Laurel Crest?"
I stood.
"No."
"It's listed on a project expense schedule."
"Which project?"
"Ridgeview Commons."
My stomach dropped.
The same project from Daniel's screenshot.
"How much?"
Rachel scrolled.
"Twenty-eight thousand total across four invoices."
"For what services?"
"Administrative consulting."
"That's not a service we'd outsource."
"I know."
"Who approved them?"
Rachel looked at the approval history.
Her face changed.
"Your login."
"No."
"The system says yes."
"I did not approve Laurel Crest."
"Could Brooke access your login?"
"Not knowingly."
Megan said, "What about the unknown device?"
Exactly.
The eighteen-month-old device authorization.
If that device had remained active, someone could have used my credentials.
Rachel checked the approval dates.
All four occurred after midnight.
I was usually asleep by eleven.
Then I noticed one date.
"I wasn't even in the country."
Rachel looked up.
"What?"
"I was in Vancouver that week."
We pulled calendar records.
Confirmed.
The approval originated from an IP address in North Carolina while I was in Canada.
For the first time, we had clear evidence that somebody had used my login while I could prove I wasn't present.
Rachel called Mercer.
He returned within forty minutes.
By then, we had found seven suspicious invoices.
Total value: eighty-two thousand dollars.
All paid to Laurel Crest.
My father's fraudulent company.
Or whoever controlled it.
Mercer studied the records.
"This is bigger than identity theft."
"How much bigger?"
"Potentially embezzlement."
My mouth went dry.
"From Holt Ridge?"
"Yes."
The word hit differently than everything before it.
Personal fraud was frightening.
This could damage employees.
Projects.
Clients.
The company I'd built.
"Could this affect our licenses?"
"Depends on what happened and how quickly you report."
Rachel answered before I could.
"We report everything."
Mercer nodded.
"Good."
At nine fifteen, he received a call and stepped onto the terrace.
When he returned, his expression was different.
"We found Daniel Price."
Every muscle in my body tightened.
"Where?"
"Hospital."
"What happened?"
"Vehicle accident."
"Today?"
"Last night."
"Is he conscious?"
"No."
Brooke's message returned to me.
Daniel is dangerous.
Maybe that was true.
Or maybe she needed us to think it was.
"Was it an accident?" Rachel asked.
"Unknown."
"Where?"
Mercer named a road less than ten miles from my house.
I looked toward the west-facing windows.
The broken garage lock.
The missing files.
"Was he driving toward here?"
"We don't know."
"Was anything found in the car?"
Mercer hesitated.
"A laptop."
My skin prickled.
"And?"
"Your address."
Nobody spoke.
"Written where?" I asked.
"On an envelope."
"What was inside?"
He looked at me.
"Copies of Holt Ridge records."
"Mine?"
"Yes."
"Anything else?"
"A photograph."
My chest tightened.
"What photograph?"
Mercer placed his phone on the table.
The image showed Brooke and Daniel standing beside a car.
Between them was a third person.
A man I recognized immediately.
I had spent Christmas afternoon laughing with him.
Eating his tamales.
Watching his daughter argue with Megan about holiday music.
"Luis," I whispered.
My contractor.
My friend.
Mercer looked at me.
"You know him?"
"Yes."
"How well?"
I stared at the photograph.
"Well enough that he spent Christmas in my house."
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: The Christmas Guest I Trusted Most Became the Missing Link Between Brooke, Daniel, and the Money Leaving My Company
My Parents Canceled Christmas With One Short Message, and I Finally Stopped Asking Them to Choose Me
Part 7 of 40
