Chương 4
"How much does he know?" I asked.
"I don't know."
"That's not useful."
"I know."
"Then give me what is useful."
Daniel inhaled.
"Yesterday afternoon, before the party, he asked me whether I still had the spreadsheet from the proposed Halpern sale."
My pulse changed.
"How did you have that?"
"Brandon forwarded it to me."
"He didn't have authority to forward it."
"I assumed he did."
"When?"
"Last Thursday."
That was before the original offer expired.
I had sent Brandon a summary of the proposal because the sale would force him and Amber to move.
I had intended to discuss alternatives after his birthday.
Instead, he had apparently circulated confidential numbers through his office.
"Did he say why?"
"He said he wanted my opinion."
"On what?"
"Whether the offer made sense."
"And what did you tell him?"
"That it looked fair."
Daniel hesitated.
"He got angry."
I sat again.
"How angry?"
"Not last-night angry."
The phrase made something cold crawl through my chest.
"He said Halpern was stealing his inheritance."
"There is no inheritance while I'm alive."
"I told him that."
That surprised me.
"What did he say?"
"He said, 'Dad doesn't see it that way when it's convenient.'"
I closed my eyes.
That sounded like Brandon.
Not a villain's sentence.
A son's sentence.
Resentful, half true, sharpened by years.
I had used money as both generosity and leverage more often than I liked admitting.
College tuition had come with advice.
The first business loan had come with oversight.
The River Oaks house had come with expectations I never wrote down because I assumed a son should know them.
Gratitude.
Respect.
Restraint.
Perhaps Brandon had experienced them as rent.
None of that explained thirty blows.
But it complicated the clean moral arithmetic I had been enjoying since dawn.
"Daniel, did he ever ask you to falsify anything?"
"No."
"Did he ever ask you to access Redwood records?"
"No."
"Did he threaten me?"
"Not directly."
"Then we're talking about ugly conversations, not a conspiracy."
"Maybe."
The word came too quickly.
"What aren't you saying?"
Daniel muttered something away from the receiver.
Then a door clicked shut.
"When he hit you last night, Amber told me not to call the police."
My gaze moved to the victim-services number sticking slightly out of my wallet.
"How do you know you were the only one thinking about it?"
"I had my phone in my hand."
"And?"
"She grabbed my wrist."
I said nothing.
"She said, 'Family handles family.'"
A small ache started behind my eyes.
"Did anyone record what happened?"
"I don't know."
"Did you?"
"No."
That answer came with enough shame to make me believe it.
Daniel said, "I should have done something."
"Yes."
"I froze."
"That happens."
"I keep thinking about it."
"That also happens."
He swallowed audibly.
"I didn't call you because I'm brave, Mr. Reeves."
"Franklin."
"Franklin."
He paused.
"I called because Brandon came into the office this morning acting normal."
That unsettled me more than I expected.
"What does normal mean?"
"Coffee, emails, complaining about traffic."
Daniel lowered his voice.
"Then he asked me if I'd spoken to you."
"And you said?"
"No."
"Good."
"He told me if anyone asks, you started the fight."
My jaw tightened.
"Did I?"
"No."
"Be certain."
"You told him the house wasn't really his."
There it was.
Not precisely what I had said, but close enough to illuminate the fuse.
Daniel continued.
"He called you a controlling old bastard."
"That part sounds accurate."
Daniel actually laughed this time.
For half a second, I did too.
The laugh pulled at my split lip.
"Then he shoved the watch box off the table," Daniel said.
"I told him to calm down."
"And then?"
"He punched you."
"First blow?"
"Yes."
"You saw all of it?"
"Most."
"Would you say that to police?"
The line went silent long enough for me to hear someone typing in the office beyond him.
"I think so."
Think.
Not yes.
Human courage always sounds smaller before it is needed.
"I won't ask you to promise," I said.
"Thank you."
"But don't delete anything."
"What?"
"Texts, emails, spreadsheets, whatever Brandon sent you."
Daniel's breathing changed.
"Are you planning something?"
"The house is under contract."
"What?"
"Halpern."
"Jesus."
"I signed this morning."
Daniel said nothing.
Then, almost whispering, "Brandon doesn't know."
"No."
"He will soon."
"Yes."
"You should be careful."
I almost told him I had spent forty years on construction sites where cranes swung steel above men's heads and nobody needed to explain danger to me.
Instead I said, "I intend to be."
After we hung up, I called Martin.
He answered immediately.
"I was about to call you."
"Why?"
"Halpern's counsel requested occupancy documentation."
My stomach sank a fraction.
"What documentation?"
"Anything governing Brandon's possession."
"There is no lease."
"I know."
"No written tenancy agreement."
"I know that too."
I hated when lawyers said they knew things I wished they did not.
Martin continued.
"This doesn't kill the deal, but it complicates possession."
"He's a guest."
"Five years is a long visit."
"He never paid rent."
"That doesn't automatically make him removable overnight."
I stared at the contract.
"What does Halpern want?"
"Vacant possession at closing."
"How long?"
"They proposed forty-five days."
That was more realistic than the fantasy I had entertained at eight in the morning, when anger made real estate law look like a light switch.
"Can they close with him there?"
"They don't want to."
"So we notify him."
"Yes."
"When?"
"Today, if you're determined."
"I am."
Martin hesitated.
"I also received an email from Brandon twenty minutes ago."
My spine stiffened.
"About what?"
"He says he represents your interests concerning Redwood."
A laugh escaped me.
This one held no humor.
"Based on what?"
"Apparently you gave him authority to review some acquisition opportunities last year."
"Review, not represent."
"I know."
"What did he ask?"
"For copies of current Redwood financial statements."
"Did you send them?"
"Frank."
"Fair question."
May you like
"No."
I got up again and walked toward the living room.
