This has gotten out of control.
I should have explained the structure better, but I was trying to surprise you.
The returns would have helped us buy the house you wanted.”
“Us?” she asked.
“Yes.
Us.
I love you.”
The words might have worked that morning.
I saw it in Paige’s face.
Part of her wanted the room to disappear.
She wanted the man she had brought home to return—the attentive one who remembered her coffee order, sent flowers to her office, and said he admired how hard she worked.
Graham saw that hesitation too.
He took one careful step forward.
“Your brother has always resented you,” he said gently.
“You told me he makes jokes whenever you succeed.
He doesn’t want to see you build a life bigger than his.”
Paige flinched.
I did too.
She had complained about me to him.
That explained why Graham knew exactly where to press: my job, my clothes, my place in the family.
He had turned ordinary sibling frustrations into a map of weaknesses.
He had not improvised the humiliation.
He had planned it.
“I told you Zach and I tease each other,” Paige said.
“You said he hides behind computers because he can’t handle real people.”
The room went quiet again.
Paige looked at me.
“Zach—”
“Not now,” I said.
I did not say it harshly.
I simply could not carry her guilt while the transfer was still active.
The bank representative answered.
Paige put the call on speaker, confirmed her identity, and explained that she had not authorized the scheduled payment.
The representative froze online transfers, disabled Graham’s access credentials, and opened a fraud claim.
When she asked whether Paige knew the recipient, Paige looked at him.
“I thought I did,” she said.
Graham’s face hardened.
“You are destroying a legitimate transaction based on your brother’s paranoia.”
The bank representative asked Paige whether anyone had pressured her to provide passwords or verification codes.
Paige closed her eyes.
“He asked me to read him two codes last night.
He said the mortgage portal was verifying my identity.”
“Those were login codes,” I said.
Graham pointed at me.
“Stop coaching her.”
“He isn’t coaching me,” Paige said.
Her voice had changed.
The confusion was still there, but beneath it was anger.
“You told me the messages were from a lender.
You watched me read them to you.”
“Because I was helping you.”
“You were logging into my bank.”
He shook his head.
“You’re emotional.
We should speak when you’re thinking clearly.”
