Chapter 2 - The Room Behind the Laundry
Emma did not argue.
That frightened Brandon more than shouting would have.
He knew his sister.
When Emma became quiet, decisions were already being made.
She helped Margaret to her feet.
"Where is your bedroom?"
Margaret hesitated.
Vanessa sighed.
"For God's sake."
Emma turned.
"I wasn't asking you."
Margaret touched Emma's arm.
"It's fine."
"Show me."
Her mother looked toward the stairs.
Then toward a narrow corridor beside the kitchen.
Emma understood before anyone spoke.
"No."
Margaret's eyes filled.
Emma walked down the corridor.
Past the pantry.
Past the staff bathroom.
Past the washing machine.
A narrow storage room had been converted into sleeping quarters.
A folding bed stood beside detergent shelves.
One thin blanket.
A lamp.
A plastic crate containing Margaret's clothes.
Emma stared.
Behind her, Brandon whispered, "She preferred being downstairs."
Emma turned.
"She preferred this?"
"It was easier for her knees."
"There's an elevator."
"It broke."
"When?"
Brandon opened his mouth.
Nothing came.
Emma stepped past him and inspected the control panel in the hallway.
The elevator had power.
She pressed the button.
The doors opened immediately.
Brandon looked away.
Vanessa crossed her arms.
"This is ridiculous."
Emma returned to Margaret.
"Pack."
Margaret shook her head.
"Emma, there's a party."
"I don't care."
"They're Brandon's clients."
"I don't care."
Margaret whispered, "Please don't make a scene."
Emma looked at the bruises on her mother's arms.
"Someone already did."
While Margaret changed clothes, Emma walked through the house.
Small details began appearing everywhere.
Her mother's photographs were gone from the living room.
The ceramic bowl Margaret had made with Emma as a child had disappeared from the entrance table.
Vanessa's portraits covered the walls instead.
Brandon and Vanessa at resorts.
Vanessa at fundraisers.
Vanessa beside politicians.
Vanessa standing on the villa staircase as though she had inherited it from generations of Brooks ancestors.
Emma entered the study.
The desk had once belonged to her father.
After his death, Margaret rarely touched it.
Now Brandon's laptop sat on top.
Emma noticed scratches around the center drawer.
She remembered the silver key hanging from her own keychain.
She had forgotten why she still carried it.
Then memory returned.
Twelve years earlier, her attorney had told her to keep original property documents somewhere secure.
Emma had placed them in the locked drawer because nobody except Margaret knew the key existed.
Surely they were no longer there.
She inserted the key.
The lock clicked.
Inside was a blue archival folder.
Emma stared.
"Thank you," she whispered.
She opened it.
The deeds were intact.
Purchase agreement.
Closing statement.
Mortgage record.
Transfer receipts.
Everything.
But there were also papers she did not recognize.
Recent papers.
Bank statements.
A limited power-of-attorney document bearing Emma's signature.
Except Emma had never signed it.
Her exhaustion vanished.
She read the document twice.
It appeared to authorize Brandon Carter to manage financial decisions related to the property.
Emma photographed every page.
Then she found something worse.
A refinancing application.
Someone had tried to borrow four million dollars against the villa.
Application pending.
Borrower signature:
Emma Rose Carter.
Forged.
Emma's heart began hammering.
She heard footsteps.
Brandon appeared in the doorway.
"What are you doing?"
Emma closed the folder.
"Looking through my desk."
He stared at the drawer.
His face shifted.
"You weren't supposed to open that."
The words escaped before he could stop them.
Emma looked at him.
"Why?"
Brandon forced a laugh.
"I mean, you just got here. Mom's upset. Everyone's emotional."
"Why wasn't I supposed to open it?"
He stepped inside.
"Emma."
She picked up the folder.
He blocked the door.
For one terrible second, neither sibling moved.
Emma looked at the man who used to wait outside her school when she was bullied.
The brother who once broke his wrist climbing into a river to retrieve the bracelet their father had given her.
She barely recognized him.
"Move."
"You're misunderstanding things."
"Move."
"Vanessa doesn't know everything."
Emma's eyes narrowed.
"What doesn't she know?"
Brandon swallowed.
Then Vanessa shouted from the dining room.
"Brandon! Everyone's waiting!"
He looked toward the sound.
Emma walked past him.
"You have until dinner," she said quietly.
May you like
"For what?"
"To decide whether you want to tell me the truth voluntarily."
