A temporary identification document bearing my name lay in front of him.
His attorney stood.
“Your Honor, I need to confer with my client.”
Judge Vance allowed a brief recess.
The moment he left the bench, the courtroom erupted into whispers.
Brandon’s lawyer pulled him into the corner.
Evelyn remained seated, glaring at me across the aisle.
For the first time that morning, she spoke without an audience in mind.
“You planned this.”
I closed my folder.
“No.
Dad planned for it.
You made it necessary.”
“You could have handled this privately.”
“You filed the lawsuit.”
“You could have signed the company over to your brother and spared us all this humiliation.”
There it was.
Even after the recording, the forged signature, and the stolen money, she still believed the humiliation belonged to her.
“What did you think would happen to me?” I asked.
She looked almost offended by the question.
“You always manage.”
That had been her excuse for everything.
Brandon received support because he needed confidence.
I received pressure because I could endure it.
He was protected from consequences.
I was praised only for surviving them.
“You told the court I stole from Dad,” I said.
“You asked the judge to remove me from the estate, seize my shares, and make me pay your legal fees.”
“We were protecting what your father built.”
“No.
You were protecting Brandon from the owner who could audit him.”
Her eyes shifted toward my folder.
She finally understood that the forged payment was not the only suspicious transaction I had traced.
Judge Vance returned before she could ask how much I knew.
Brandon’s attorney announced that his client wished to correct portions of his testimony.
The judge warned Brandon that changing an answer would not erase the original statement.
Brandon swallowed.
He admitted that he had opened the temporary account.
He claimed Evelyn told him I had authorized it.
He admitted using some of the funds but called them reimbursements for business expenses.
He denied forging my signature.
Then Daniel played the rest of the office recording.
On-screen, after my father left to contact his lawyer, Brandon picked up the false transfer agreement.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
Evelyn took the paper from him.
“We wait.”
“He knows.”
“He is sick.
Soon it will be our word against a dead man’s.”
She placed the agreement inside her handbag.
Brandon stared toward the doorway.
“Victoria will challenge it.”
My mother smiled.
“Not if everyone believes she already took the money.”
The recording ended.
