Chapter 5 - THE MEETING
The revelation hit me like a physical blow. The Thursday suppers. The sanctuary where my mother had fed hundreds of hungry, proud people over four decades. Grant had put a price tag on all of it to buy Brooke a life I was supposed to pay for.
“He doesn’t have my power of attorney,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “I revoked it three years ago when he opened that sketchy crypto account.”
David froze. “He presented a notarized POA to the bank, Anne. Dated six months ago.”
“Then he bribed a notary.” I gathered the LLC documents and the forged mortgage papers. “I need copies of all of this, David. Everything.”
“If you take this to the police, Grant goes to prison for fraud,” David said, his hand hovering over the copies. “He’s my brother.”
“He stole my mother’s legacy, your reputation, and the roof over my head. He made his choice.”
David didn’t argue. He made the copies.
By the time I returned to my house, it was past midnight. The driveway was empty. Grant hadn’t come home.
I walked into the kitchen and set the copies on the island, right next to the blue mixing bowl. I brewed a pot of coffee and sat in the dark, waiting.
At 2:00 AM, headlights swept across the living room wall. But it wasn’t Grant’s SUV.
It was a small, beat-up sedan.
Brooke stepped out. She looked exhausted, the glamorous facade from the bookstore completely washed away. She walked to the front door and let herself in with the key I knew she had.
She stopped dead when she saw me sitting in the dark kitchen.
“He’s not here,” I said, turning on the island pendant light.
Brooke clutched her purse to her chest. “I know. I tracked his phone. He’s at a hotel downtown.” She looked at the papers spread across the counter. Her eyes widened. “You found the storage unit.”
“I found out my husband is a felon,” I corrected her. “And I found out you’re his accomplice.”
Tears spilled over Brooke’s eyelashes. She didn’t look like a smug mistress anymore. She looked like a terrified girl.
“I didn’t know about the forgery, Anne. I swear.” She stepped into the kitchen, her hands shaking. “Grant told me you agreed to the mortgage. He said the book was a joint investment. When I found out the truth tonight… I confronted him. He laughed at me.”
“You were pawning my mother’s rosary three hours ago,” I said coldly.
Brooke reached into her purse, pulled out the silver beads, and placed them gently on the counter next to the blue bowl.
“I didn’t pawn it. The broker wouldn’t take it without provenance.” She wiped her face. “Grant told me if I didn’t get the cash tonight, he’d pin the LLC fraud on me. He said because my name is on the operating agreement, I’d go to jail, and my son would go into foster care.”
I frowned. “Your unborn baby?”
“No.” Brooke reached into her bag again and pulled out a worn, creased photograph. She slid it across the marble to me.
It was a picture of a little boy, maybe five years old, with bright green eyes.
“This is Leo. He’s my son from my first marriage. He lives with my sister because I can’t afford an apartment big enough for him.” Brooke choked back a sob. “Grant promised the book advance would pay for a house. He promised I could bring Leo home. But tonight, Grant told me the book was just a front.”
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I stared at her. “A front for what?”
Brooke pointed to the copy of the church deed. “He doesn’t care about the recipes, Anne. A commercial developer offered him two million dollars for the church hall land. Grant just needed to bankrupt the LLC so the bank would foreclose on the property, allowing his shell company to buy it at auction.”
