Chapter 14 - BRITTANY'S VERSION
Brittany called before I called her.
Maybe Rebecca's preservation notice reached her.
Maybe Lily warned her.
Maybe Mom did.
I answered because I wanted to hear what she would say when she knew I had the bank document.
"Ethan."
Her voice was small.
"Yeah."
"I need to explain."
"Go ahead."
"Not on the phone."
"Then you don't get to explain."
"Please."
I looked at Emily.
She shook her head.
Not because she wanted to control me.
Because we had agreed.
No private family meetings.
No surprise conversations.
No situations where truth could later become memory against memory.
"You can speak to Rebecca."
"I don't want to speak to your lawyer."
"Then write it down."
"You're treating me like a criminal."
I stared at the wall.
"Did you witness Dad's signature on the beneficiary change form?"
Silence.
"Brittany."
"Mom said he signed it."
"Did you see him sign it?"
"No."
"Then why did you sign as witness?"
"Because Mom asked me to."
"After Dad died?"
Silence.
My chest tightened.
"After Dad died?"
"Yes."
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
A direct admission.
Emily covered her mouth.
"You signed a document saying you witnessed our dead father sign something."
Brittany started crying.
"Mom said the paperwork reflected what he meant to do."
"You knew that wasn't true."
"I didn't know what to think."
"You knew he was dead."
"Yes."
"You knew you hadn't watched him sign it."
"Yes."
"That's enough thinking."
She sobbed.
"I was twenty-two."
"Stop using your age like it erased your brain."
"Mom said if the account went to you, you would keep it all."
I laughed in disbelief.
"It was mine."
"We were family."
"I was family too."
She went quiet.
I continued.
"Did you ever ask why Dad left it to me?"
"Mom said he favored you because you were the only son."
"He left letters."
"I know."
"Did you read them?"
A pause.
"Some."
"Then you knew that wasn't why."
She started crying again.
"I didn't want to know."
That was the first honest thing she said.
I sat back.
"Why?"
"Because if Dad was right, then Mom wasn't."
The sentence stunned me.
Brittany continued through tears.
"Do you understand what that meant?"
"I think I'm starting to."
"Mom was everything after Dad died."
"She made herself everything before he died too."
"Maybe."
"Not maybe."
"I couldn't think like that then."
I wanted to stay angry.
Anger was simpler.
But beneath it, I saw something ugly and familiar.
Brittany had done what I had done in a different form.
She protected the system because questioning it felt like losing the family.
The difference was that she had crossed legal and moral lines I had not.
Understanding was not absolution.
"Why did you keep Dad's letter?"
She sniffed.
"Because I read it."
"And?"
"Because I knew Mom would destroy it."
"Yet you still helped her."
"I know."
"Why?"
"Because I thought I could keep one piece of Dad without choosing his side."
I said nothing.
That sentence was sad enough to stand alone.
"Did Mom know Gordon before Dad died?" I asked.
Brittany stopped crying.
"Yes."
"How well?"
"I don't know."
"Were they having an affair?"
"I never saw anything before Dad died."
"After?"
"Yes."
"How soon?"
"A few weeks."
My stomach turned.
Not because adults could not move on after loss.
Because a few weeks placed Gordon inside our family while he was helping transfer Dad's account.
"Did Gordon help Mom prepare the beneficiary form?"
Silence.
"Brittany."
"He told her what the bank needed."
I stood.
Emily's eyes widened.
"Exact words."
"He said there had to be a signed change form and a witness."
"Did he know Dad was dead when he said that?"
"Yes."
My pulse pounded.
"Did he know you hadn't witnessed Dad sign it?"
"I think so."
"Think?"
"He told me where to sign."
I stopped moving.
That was no longer bank confusion.
At least not if Brittany was telling the truth.
"Will you tell Detective Bell that?"
She began breathing quickly.
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Mom will go to jail."
"Maybe."
"Gordon too."
"Maybe."
"And me?"
There it was.
The real fear.
"I don't know."
"Ethan, please."
"I am not the person who decides that."
"You can tell them you don't want charges."
"I can tell the truth."
"You're going to destroy me."
My jaw tightened.
"No."
I heard Mom's voice in that accusation.
Same shape.
Same reversal.
"What happened to you will come from what you did."
"You're my brother."
"Yes."
"Doesn't that mean anything?"
I looked at Emily.
Then Noah.
"It means I hope you tell the truth before someone forces it out of you."
She cried quietly.
"I hate you."
It hurt.
Less than I expected.
"I know."
She hung up.
I immediately wrote down the conversation and called Rebecca.
She told me not to overstate what I heard.
I gave her exact phrases.
She contacted Detective Bell.
By evening, Brittany had retained a lawyer.
Teresa posted nothing.
For the first time in days, her silence felt louder than her attacks.
At nine, Kayla texted.
Mom packed a suitcase.
I stared at it.
Where is she going?
Don't know.
Another message.
Gordon picked her up.
My heart jumped.
Did you see?
Yes.
What car?
Kayla sent the plate.
I forwarded it to Rebecca and Bell.
Ten minutes later, Detective Bell called.
"We're aware."
"Are they leaving town?"
"We don't know."
"Can you stop them?"
"Not just for driving."
"What if they destroy evidence?"
"We're taking steps."
I hated that answer.
"What steps?"
"The kind I can't discuss."
I paced the living room.
Emily watched.
"You can't control this part."
"I know."
"Your feet disagree."
I stopped pacing.
My phone rang again.
Unknown number.
I answered.
"Ethan Carter?"
"Yes."
"This is First Illinois Financial legal department."
My heart accelerated.
"We have completed an initial review of archived records regarding your father's account."
"And?"
The woman chose her words carefully.
"We have identified irregularities inconsistent with bank procedure."
I closed my eyes.
"Meaning?"
"We are opening a formal internal investigation."
"What about the money?"
"I cannot make a determination yet."
"Was the transfer authorized?"
"We have concerns."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the answer I can give today."
Then she said something I had not expected.
"Mr. Carter, there is a second account."
I froze.
"What?"
"A smaller certificate account your father also designated to you."
"How much?"
"At maturity, approximately thirty-four thousand dollars."
I could not speak.
"Where is it?"
A pause.
"It was closed eighteen months after your father's death."
"By who?"
"We are still reviewing authorization."
I already knew the answer I feared.
The theft was not one event.
It was a system.
May you like
And six years later, we were only beginning to see its size.
